Chapter 1

The young travelers left General Marcum’s estate in a mixture of excitement and apprehension. After an uninterrupted trek through the city, they met up on the docks near the Luna Mara. Frisha’s cousins and their entourage had yet to arrive. Captain Jimson was standing to one side going over the paperwork with the dock master and ship’s captain. Frisha stood huddled next to Tam, and both were staring at Rezkin who was tending to Pride several yards away. He was dressed in the most ostentatious finery they had ever seen on their companion. He wore a fine silk doublet in charcoal and silver brocade over a silver silk shirt and dark charcoal breeches. About his waist was a shiny, embossed black belt with a large silver buckle embedded with several large emeralds and sapphires.

From his belt hung his two swords, whose scabbards were now clamped within cages of silver filigree inset with a number of sapphires. Hanging from each were dark blue silk tassels that swung as he strutted about in a manner they had never seen from their friend. His high boots were made of high-quality, soft, black leather. Rezkin’s hair was not pulled back into the usual queue, but rather was plaited past his shoulders and tied with a silver silk ribbon whose ends hung half way down the man’s back. Rezkin was a picture of perfection if one were painting an idealized haughty noble.

Reaylin had only just arrived at the docks and was leaning over Frisha and Tam’s shoulders as she asked, “What is Rez wearing and why is he acting like that?”

Frisha shook her head and said, “I have no idea. He changed after breakfast and told us to just go with it. I can’t imagine how he could even afford all that, much less why he would want to.”

Reaylin’s eyes roved over the young warrior, and she said, “It looks good on him, though.”

Releasing a wistful sigh, Frisha said, “It really does. He looks so dashing. He’s exactly how I imagine the heroic prince would look as he sweeps the princess off her feet.”

Tam laughed and commented, “I’m pretty sure you both said the same thing when you saw him wearing nothing at all.”

Both girls’ faces flushed, and they simultaneously took to pummeling Tam. Rezkin glanced over at the raucous group with a questioning lift of his brow. The girls flushed again as they composed themselves. Just then, two fine coaches drew up at the end of the dock. The second coach was unoccupied but was filled to capacity with numerous bags and trunks. From the first coach stepped Frisha’s cousins and their friend, Lord Brandt. Every one of them was dressed just as grandly as Rezkin. All three men were wearing fancy doublets and breeches with gaudy accessories, and their hair was plaited in the same manner as Rezkin’s. Shiela fussed with her lavender gown that fell in waves of layer upon layer of silks and laces. Her dark brown hair was pulled over one shoulder and was curled and wound about itself within a fine lace netting. She wore short, white lace gloves and grasped a parasol that matched her gown, which she immediately opened upon stepping out of the coach.

Several servants had been crammed atop the coaches with the drivers. Two of the male servants were directing the deckhands to the luggage while another assisted a petite, timid woman in a drab servant’s smock to the ground. The tiny woman promptly began patting down Shiela’s gown, ensuring no wrinkles could be seen.

Once the four young nobles were satisfied that their attire had survived the short coach ride through the city, they began making their way down the dock. The servants and a number of dockworkers began unloading the luggage coach and were already passing by the strutting nobles. Shiela, who seemed to be in the lead, stopped a few paces short of Frisha and her companions. She stuck her nose in the air and sniffed disdainfully as she eyed Frisha’s sensible tunic and pants.

“Frisha,” she said, “Cousin, it is a pleasure to see you again, I am sure.” Her tone made it seem like it was anything but a pleasure.

Lords Malcius and Palis next greeted their cousin with little more than a slight bow. They even neglected to introduce their friend. Well, Frisha would not be so rude.

“Malcius, Palis, Shiela, this is my friend Tamarin Blackwater, and this is Reaylin de Voss,” Frisha announced. All three nodded vaguely and mumbled something that sounded like “pleasure” without actually acknowledging the presence of Frisha’s companions. At that moment, Rezkin chose to make an appearance.

He strode up to the group with a broad smile and overly loud, cheery voice. “Greetings! It is a pleasure to finally meet you all. Ah, you must be Lord Malcius,” Rezkin said as he clasped forearms with the young man in a familiar greeting between close friends and peers. Malcius and Palis both had the dark brown hair that ran in the Jebai family, but while Palis’s eyes matched the warm brown of Frisha’s, Malcius’s were a soft grey like his mother’s. The older brother had broad shoulders and was slightly taller, about six feet, while the younger brother had a leaner, wiry build.

Malcius grinned and greeted Rezkin with just as much enthusiasm, “And, you must be Lord Rezkin! I heard you would be traveling with us. Our uncle spoke highly of you.” Frisha and Tam shared a surprised glance, both thinking the same thing. “Please, allow me to introduce my companions. This is my brother, Palis.” The warrior-turned-noble clasped arms with Palis and exchanged pleasantries. Malcius motioned to the young woman and said, “And, this is our sister, Shiela.”

Rezkin bowed low and intoned, “Lady Shiela, it is most gracious of you to bless us with your stunning presence.” He gave her his best smile, the one that women seemed to prefer. Shiela blushed as Rezkin brushed a soft kiss across her hand.

“Oh, Lord Rezkin, the pleasure is mine, I am sure.” The way she spoke most definitely made it sound like a pleasure. “You are one fine gentleman.”

Rezkin bowed slightly, again, and said, “Thank you, Lady Shiela, that means much coming from a lovely lady such as you.” Shiela actually giggled as she fanned her face with a lacy hand.

Malcius grinned and continued, “And, this is our good friend, Lord Brandt of House Gerrand.”

Not having a direct connection to Lord Brandt, Rezkin gave him a more formal bow in greeting rather than the familiar one he had used with the Jebais. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Lord Brandt,” Rezkin stated. “If I might be so bold, I would just like to say that I have always admired your mother’s artistry.”

Brandt’s brows rose in surprise, “You are familiar with my mother’s work?”

“Of course! Lady Gerrand has a way of capturing the light with a softness that makes one feel as if he is looking upon a dream. It is quite easy to forget that underneath the fantasy lies simple paint and canvas,” Rezkin remarked.

“I had never really thought of it that way, but you are correct. I can see it, now. Which is your favorite?” Brandt asked curiously.

“I once had the pleasure of looking upon The Lilies of the Lake.” Rezkin shifted his gaze to Shiela and grinned as he mock-lowered his voice conspiratorially. “If I did not know any better, I could swear that fairies lived among them,” he confided with a wink. Shiela giggled and blushed as she batted her lashes.

Reaylin, who was standing behind the stunned Frisha and Tam, leaned forward and whispered, “Oh, he’s good. I didn’t know the tough warrior had that in him.”

“Say, Lord Rezkin,” Malcius spoke up, “is that your magnificent beast?” Malcius waved a manicured hand toward Pride who was standing further down the dock. The reins hung limply, brushing the ground in a silent command for the horse to remain where he was. Pride was nearly as opulent as Rezkin today. The stallion’s black coat was clean and brushed to a shine. The embossed black saddle and black and silver bridle were polished, as well. The horse’s mane and tail were braided and woven with silver ribbons in a parade style.

“Why, yes, he is. But, please, you may dispense with the title. I am quite sure none of you will forget who I am. Just call me Rezkin, although my friends sometimes prefer to call me Rez,” the young man said with such confidence it was infectious.

“Yes, quite right, Rezkin…Rez. It would please me if you called me Malcius, as well,” the noble replied. Frisha’s jaw dropped. Her egotistical cousin never dropped his title – for anyone. No doubt Malcius thought he would look weak and insecure if he insisted on continuing to use his title after Rez’s speech. The announcement was followed by a round of permissions by all to dispense with the titles. In only a matter of moments, Rezkin had completely disarmed the nobles of their pretentious snobbery, at least as far as he was concerned.

“You were speaking of the horse?” Shiela prompted demurely as she batted her lashes.

“Yes, tell us about the stallion,” Palis piped up. “It is massive. I have not seen the like. The only horse I have seen that comes close is Uncle Marcum’s.”

“What breed is it? Is it of the Cronelis stock?” asked Brandt.

Rezkin grinned like he was holding all of the candy. “No, Palis is quite right. He is a purebred battle charger of the Augmerian line. I call him Pride.”

The men’s jaws were slack as glances darted back and forth between Rezkin and the horse. “But, that is the king’s stock,” protested Malcius.

Rezkin grinned broader as he placed his hands loosely in his pockets and rocked back on his heals in an uncharacteristic display of pride. “Indeed,” was all he said. “Speaking of which, it is time I get him rigged so they can haul him aboard. You had best keep your distance. He tends to maim or kill anyone but me.”

The three male lordlings followed Rezkin but kept their distance, whispering between themselves as he removed the saddle and tack and strapped the horse into the harnesses, readying him to be hoisted aboard the ship. The lords looked like children drooling over their new best friend’s amazing toy. Shiela’s eyes never left Rezkin, and every once in a while, he would bend or stoop, and her face would flush. Frisha had no idea what Rezkin was up to, but if he thought for one second that she was going to lose him to Shiela, then he had another thing coming.

Once everyone was aboard, they received their berth assignments. Rezkin already knew the assignments because he had made them himself. The young warrior assigned himself to share a room with Malcius, while Palis and Brandt shared a second. For strategic reasons, Rezkin would have preferred to place Tam with Brandt, but it would have been considered unseemly for the young lord to share a room with a commoner who was not his manservant. Frisha, Reaylin, Shiela, and Shiela’s maid, Tami, were assigned to share a four-person berth. Rezkin could get away with placing Reaylin in the room since she was the only other female onboard. As both officers and nobility, Captain Jimson and Lieutenant Drascon shared a berth; and Tam was left to bunk with Sergeant Millins as commoners. The four Jebai house guards shared another four-person room, while the other servants were placed with the crew.

The rooms were small and cramped since two or three of the berths could possibly fit into a single average room at an inn. When it came to the confines of a ship, it seemed the nobles preferred privacy over space. Malcius looked around and wondered, “Where are the rest of my belongings?”

Rezkin laughed, a sound that would have seemed unnatural to anyone who knew him but sounded genuine and effortless to the unsuspecting lord. “I do not know about you, but I would prefer not to sleep on a trunk.” Rezkin waved a dismissive hand at the two trunks that had been placed at the ends of their respective beds. “I believe we only need one in here at time. The rest are stored in the hold below. If you require something, I am sure one of those crewmen will be delighted to retrieve it for you.” In order to keep up appearances, Rezkin was also traveling with several trunks. It would have looked odd for a noble of his unspecified, but presumably high, standing to be traveling with nothing more than a single pack and saddlebags. So far, no one was willing to risk offending him by questioning his place within the ranks of the nobility.

Since the crew had situated their belongings and Rezkin had already seen to Pride, there was little to do. He and the other passengers found themselves standing on the deck waiting to depart. The women approached the huddle of young men. All three wore sour expressions, but Frisha and Reaylin stood back as Shiela sidled up in exasperation.

Malcius grinned and said, “Ah, Sister, so nice of you to join us.”

Shiela batted her lashes at Rezkin to whom she directed her answer. “Nothing could keep me away,” she said with syrupy sweetness.

Rezkin bowed slightly and inquired with a pleasant smile, “Lady Shiela, how do you find your accommodations?”

Shiela’s composure slipped as she fanned her face with a lacy hand and fluttered her eyes with overly dramatic distress. “Well, I am sure that little can be done, but it is most disconcerting to be sharing a room with a bunch of commoners.” The disdain with which she said the word commoners made it sound as if she had been assigned a room filled with livestock.

Rezkin’s smile dropped, and he directed an uncertain and disapproving frown in Malcius’s direction while flicking a glance at Frisha. Malcius flushed at the unspoken rebuke. As General Marcum’s heir, Frisha was due all the respect of the nobility, and to demean her publicly was unbecoming behavior for a lady. Rezkin’s comportment as a nobleman of the highest standard encouraged Malcius to uphold the standard, as well. Malcius cleared his throat as he gave his sister a penetrating look. “Sister, I am sure you misspoke.”

Shiela was startled by the reprimand and glanced over to see Rezkin’s disapproving stare. She blushed slightly and replied, “Oh, yes. I meant a couple of commoners and our dear cousin. Forgive me, Frisha, I meant no offense,” she said with feigned regret.

Frisha rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. “I’m sure you didn’t,” she remarked. “I must say, Shiela, I find myself greatly concerned for your wellbeing,” she said, her brow furrowed with worry.

Shiela’s eyes widened in trepidation of some unidentified threat, “Oh, why is that?”

“I had not realized your constitution was so delicate that the mere presence of other human beings could render you so senseless,” Frisha remarked fretfully. “I worry that this journey could cause you an inordinate amount of stress. Perhaps you should reconsider attending.”

Reaylin snickered behind her hand as she held back a giggle, but Palis and Brandt burst out laughing. Even Malcius wore a sly grin, which immediately fell when Shiela scowled in his direction. Shiela’s face reddened, and she turned her attention to Rezkin. He observed the young lady with a somber face but a glint of laughter in his eyes. Shiela knew the handsome nobleman was watching to see how she would react. The heat slipped from her cheeks as she grinned wickedly. She sidled up to Rezkin and wrapped her arms around one of his muscular biceps as she turned to face Frisha. She then gazed up at the young warrior with doe eyes and said sweetly, “I am sure, dear Cousin, that I will be quite well during the trip. From what Uncle Marcum said, Rezkin, here, is quite capable. I will be in good hands.”

Rezkin lifted a brow and cast a feral grin down at the young woman. Frisha was fuming but felt a shiver crawl up her spine at the look. Rezkin appeared as a lion that had just sighted his next prey – and not in a good way. Shiela interpreted the look as a different kind of hunger and smiled suggestively. Malcius cleared his throat just as another sound reached their ears.

“Do not drop that, now, and hurry up! We do not have all day, you know,” said a familiar voice. Frisha and Tam’s eyes widened as the late arrival stomped onto the deck. “Ah! I did not realize I would have the company of House Jebai. What is this? House Gerrand, too, I see.”

Malcius bowed low as did Palis and Brandt. “Lord Tieran,” Malcius intoned, “I did not know we would be traveling with such esteemed company.” His eyes glanced at Rezkin who was mostly blocked by the others. He was pointedly not bowing. Malcius added, “Or, rather, additional esteemed company, I should say.”

“Additional?” Tieran queried with a furrowed brow. His eyes fell on Rezkin as the young warrior stepped from behind the other young men. Tieran’s face paled, and his jaw dropped slightly. “Oh, ah…I see. Lord Rezkin,” he sputtered as he bowed slightly in greeting, “it is…ah…good to see you, again.”

Malcius glanced between the two, his interest piqued by the superior lord’s strange behavior. “You two already know each other?” He immediately thought better of his question and waved it off, “Of course, you do. Introductions are not necessary.”

Rezkin greeted Lord Tieran wearing the same feral smile from a moment ago, only it looked decidedly more dangerous when directed at the duke’s eldest son. His other prey had arrived. Rezkin had seen the Duke’s request for passage for his son and had taken it upon himself to assign the young man to their ship. He had also sent a missive to the Duke, in the general’s name, explaining the security that was already assigned to the vessel, so Tieran had not come with his own guard. Since the duke already had a number of men assigned to the tournament, Tieran’s personal guard would be pooled from them upon his arrival in Skutton. Tieran and his manservant were to share the final room. It was not inappropriate for a manservant to share quarters with his master when traveling, and contrary to popular belief, many of those who served the upper Houses were of lesser nobility. Tieran’s manservant was the fifth son of a minor landless noble.

Tieran gulped as he received the full brunt of Rezkin’s heated gaze. While Rezkin played the amiable upstanding noble for the others, he kept Tieran firmly in his place through fear. “So, ah, Lord Rezkin. Does this mean your lovely girlfriend is around here as well?”

Rezkin’s grin lost its edge and suddenly became as bright and pleasant as it had with the others. He brushed off Shiela’s grasp and turned abruptly. With a sweeping motion he presented Frisha, “Yes, you are quite right! My sweet Lady Frisha is attending the tournament, as well, escorted by her cousins, of course.” All eyes turned to the startled young woman, and she blushed at Rezkin’s recognition of her as his girlfriend once again.

Shiela’s jaw dropped. “She’s your girlfriend?” The young lady’s shocked inquiry was accentuated by a shrill whistle and the sudden rocking of the ship as it began drifting away from the dock.

On sure feet, Rezkin strode over to the stunned Frisha and took her in his arms as he gazed longingly into her eyes. Somehow, the performance did not seem as difficult as he thought it would be. Rezkin had spent some of his time in Kaibain studying the interactions between men and women. He even attended a few stage performances during the night that were classified as romances. The exchanges seemed strange and foreign, but he was practiced at mimicking behavior, so he was confident he could pull it off.

“How could I not be completely besotted by this stunning woman? She is a brilliant diamond in the rough.” He paused theatrically. “Well, I suppose it is not that rough considering her father is a shrewd and extremely successful businessman. I am quite sure his acquired wealth exceeds many of the smaller Houses, in fact. Not to mention she is the heir of Lord Marcum Jebai.” Rezkin intentionally referred to the general as lord and added his family name for emphasis.

Tieran furrowed his brow. “Really? A commoner has been so successful?”

“Quite.” Rezkin remarked. “We must not forget, gentlemen…and ladies,” Rezkin said as he bowed slightly toward Shiela and Frisha, “that, while the nobility serve as the mind and voice of the kingdom, the commoners are the kingdom’s blood. Without them, the kingdom would cease to function.” Rezkin then grinned smugly, “And, I, for one, prefer my blood rich and plentiful.”

The duke’s son narrowed his eyes suspiciously, “Yet, you would choose to bind yourself to one of common blood?”

Rezkin laughed heartily. Frisha and Tam jumped. It was the first time they had heard him laugh, and to their ears, it did not quite sound genuine. “Oh, please, Tieran,” Rezkin said, waving off the lord’s concern while intentionally dropping his title. “Is noble blood so weak as to be defeated by one commoner parent? Both the count and general are as strong as any noble can be,” he remarked as Malcius and Palis straightened proudly. “Do not doubt that Lady Terissa is just as formidable and respectable.” Frisha jerked her head to stare at Rezkin. What did he know of her mother? Rezkin stroked his jaw as he mused, “Considering her father’s intelligence and success, I would not be surprised to find that he was actually the remnant of forgotten line from a minor house.” Frisha frowned. She knew full well her father did not belong to any noble house, and she was sure Rezkin knew it, too.

All the nobles looked at Frisha appraisingly, as if seeing her for the first time. Rezkin was pleased as he observed their contemplations and lightly remarked, “It is a shame I have not been able to convince the general to accept my proposal.”

Shiela’s jaw dropped. “You proposed? For Frisha?” she questioned with scorn and disbelief. The young men all scoured Rezkin’s appearance trying to process the information.

“Why would Uncle Marcum reject your proposal?” Palis finally asked. “He speaks so highly of you.”

“Alas, you have struck on the conundrum that has become the bane of my existence,” he said dramatically with a heavy sigh. He shook his head and continued, “I can tell you for certain that Marcum definitely recognizes his niece’s worth. Perhaps he is holding out for someone more active in the court, perhaps a duke,” he mentioned offhandedly as he waved in Tieran’s direction. The young man shifted uncomfortably, and Frisha blushed furiously. “For all I know, he could be holding out for a prince! What I do know is that, despite my promises of wealth and power and protection, he continues to deny me.” His face fell, and he looked away in heartfelt shame.

Frisha placed a hand on his arm as she gazed at him sympathetically with tears in her eyes. She knew that much of what Rezkin was saying and doing was an act, but she could see his sincere distress over his rejection. Even Shiela’s face softened at the young romantic’s plight.

Malcius shifted uncomfortably before he remarked, “The general is a cunning man, Rez. Perhaps he only hopes to test your resolve.” Shiela scowled at her brother as she elbowed him in the ribs. Prompted by his aggressive sister, he continued, “I am positive it has nothing to do with you, personally, and I am sure that any House would be elated to join with you.” Shiela gave her brother a pointed look, and he added casually, “My own included.”

Frisha sent Malcius a dark look, and he winced as Shiela smiled smugly. Rezkin turned back to the group as he gathered his composure. He pretended not to catch Malcius’s implication. “Yes, you are probably correct, Malcius.” He straightened proudly and gripped his doublet over his heart as he said, “I shall remain steadfast and determined. The general may yet change his mind.”

Rezkin glanced over at Captain Jimson who had been standing not far away eavesdropping on the conversation while presumably reviewing paperwork. The warrior had not informed Jimson of his plans, and Jimson really had no idea what Rezkin was up to with this whole charade. The captain recognized a signal when he saw one, though. Rezkin’s look was his cue to interrupt the conversation.

“Lords, Ladies, now that we are underway, the ship’s captain asks that we all meet on the quarterdeck for instructions in safety and ship’s protocol. If you would, please follow me,” Jimson said as he turned and led the way.

Captain Crowleson spent nearly an hour explaining the layout of the ship, a bit of sailing terminology and what everyone should do in the case of an emergency. To the men, he explained where they should take up positions if the ship came under attack. Being a passenger ship, rather than a warship, the carrack had little in the way of defenses. Most of the space that would be used for weaponry had been designed as quarters for the crew and passengers. The captain explained that there had been no attacks for as long he had been sailing the Tremadel, but he wanted to be thorough.

During his speech, the captain also made it quite clear exactly who was in charge while they were on the ship. Tieran and Malcius sniffed in disdain, but Rezkin piped in with exuberance, assuring the captain that everyone understood the need for certain protocols when on the vessel. Chastened, the young men nodded their assurances, as well.

In the short time Rezkin had been in the presence of the nobles, he had effectively manipulated them into viewing him as the leader. He left open the implication that he was of very high standing without ever divulging his House affiliation, not a small feat among nobles. General Marcum’s assurances had gone a long way in generating that trust with the Jebais. Rezkin wondered just how hard the general choked on his words when he issued such praise. Rezkin had successfully cowed the duke’s son through fear during their previous encounter, but the Jebais’ assumption of Rezkin’s superior status encouraged Tieran to believe the same. Tieran simply assumed the Jebais knew with whom they were traveling.

Gaining control over the traveling party was only one part of Rezkin’s plan, though. He could have done so through a number of different methods. The easiest would have been to simply state that the general had placed him in command and left them to wonder as to his status in the hierarchy of the kingdom. That would have done nothing to further his second goal, though, which was to aid Frisha. If Rezkin could rewrite the opinions of the young nobles of Houses Jebai, Gerrand, and especially Nirius, then Frisha would have a much higher chance of being accepted as an equal in high society. If Rezkin could not keep Frisha for himself, then he could at least help her make a smooth entrance into society and hopefully have a happier life.

Rezkin’s third goal was to create an acceptable persona for himself. The general was a prime example of how suspicion and fear could turn others against him, and people feared what they did not understand. If Rezkin acted as himself, the others on this voyage would be distrustful and could turn against him. He could have played the role of a commoner and been effectively invisible, but then he would have had a difficult time guiding events according to his plans. Most people seemed to want to believe he was a noble, so he decided to let them believe as they wished. Surprisingly, allowing people to believe he had the utmost power and authority was the path of least resistance. Besides, the young warrior would need a strongly defined and accepted persona if his plans for the tournament were to succeed.

For the rest of the day, people mingled and chatted. The nobles gossiped about court and courtships. They even invited Frisha to join them when Rezkin was not present. Captain Jimson spent some time getting to know his comrades, and the Jebai House Guard kept to themselves playing dice or bones. Tam found a secluded spot near the poop deck to read his book. He was feeling out of sorts. His friends all seemed to fit into some niche, and he did not belong with any of them. Only Reaylin was in a similar position, and he was not yet desperate enough to suffer her.

Tam knew that Rezkin was playing a role, although he still did not understand why. The problem was that Tam was unable to discern how much of what Rezkin said was simple acting and how much was truth. Rezkin’s speech about commoners was both complimentary and patronizing, and Tam did not know how to feel about it. On the surface, Rezkin’s affable and joyous conduct seemed normal for a sociable noble, but the excessive jubilance and decorum seemed almost neurotic for Rezkin.

The warrior was typically defined by a solid, stoic presence that incited feelings of safety and stability. When Rezkin was around, Tam always felt like everything was under control, even when they were in the midst of chaos. The Lord Rezkin simply did not fill him with the same sense of assurance, even though he knew it lay just below the surface. Rezkin’s almost passionate behavior somehow disturbed him.

Reaylin was just as aloof as Tam. She seemed particularly uncomfortable around the other women. Frisha had gained points with Reaylin when she snubbed Shiela, but now Frisha was spending more time with the nobles, as was Rezkin. Reaylin was astonished by Rezkin’s behavior. Never had she imaged he was capable of pulling off such a flamboyant persona. It made her wonder about Rezkin’s other capabilities and why he was such a skilled fraudster. Just who was Rezkin really, and could he be useful?

Reaylin still was not happy that Rezkin proposed to Frisha, but she was encouraged by the fact that the deal had failed. She did feel bad for him, but he was a strong man, and he would get over it. Frisha was too weak for a man like Rezkin. Reaylin could tell that he was put off by women like Shiela and thought that she, as a warrior, had a much better chance with such a man. If only she could get him away from Frisha long enough for him to see her.

Rezkin disappeared for a while as he secretly scrambled about the ship. He snuck about the captain’s quarters, since the captain was busy on deck. He had already been there before, but he wanted to make sure there was nothing new of which he should be aware. There was not, so he continued with his search. He snuck into each of the guest’s rooms and rifled through their trunks and then went through the mound of useless necessities in the cargo hold. Nothing of immediate import stood out, but he did find a few tidbits that he would file away for later use.

Two of the Jebai House Guards had gambling debts they were to pay off by performing some unspecified service while in Skutton. The future duke, Tieran, was to attend a clandestine meeting on behalf of his father with a man whose name Rezkin did not recognize. Tieran’s manservant, Colton, had a secret lover who Rezkin was nearly certain was a man. Shiela was not as innocent as she would have her family believe. She had in her possession half a dozen parting letters from potential suitors moaning about how much they would miss her, and two actually pleaded for her to meet them for a private rendezvous while at the tournament.

When Rezkin rejoined the nobles, everyone wanted to know what he had been up to and how he managed to disappear for so long on a ship. Rezkin laughed and said, “Ah, well, you see I do enjoy a good voyage as much as the rest of you, but we did have to rise hours before dawn this morning.” Frisha arched a brow. She knew full well that Rezkin always rose long before dawn. The man was incessantly restless when he was not moving in some fashion.

Malcius snickered, “You snuck off to take a nap.”

Rezkin heaved an overly dramatic sigh and uttered, “You may have seen the truth, and I concede – I feel no shame for my absence.”

Shiela, not deterred by Rezkin’s intentions toward Frisha, said, “Oh, I wish you had said so earlier. I might have felt inclined to take a nap as well.” She fluttered her lashes and eyed him suggestively.

Malcius scowled, “Shiela, know you no shame?”

Brandt chuckled, “Whatever vessel held her shame grew so full it shattered. She is no longer capable of carrying any.”

“What would you know of shame, Brandt?” Shiela scoffed. “You are a cad.”

“Better a cad than a…ow!” Brandt shouted as Malcius stomped his foot under the table.

“Yes, well,” Rezkin cleared his throat, “it is probably best I found myself in seclusion. Tam tells me I snore quite loudly.”

Malcius groaned, “And I am to bunk with you?”

Rezkin shrugged and grinned, “Every man must have at least one fault, no?”

“If that is your only fault, then you are a better man than the rest of us,” Malcius muttered.

“Speak for yourself,” said Brandt. “I am utter perfection,” he remarked facetiously as he ran a hand through his long silky hair.

Palis punched Brandt in the arm and replied, “Yeah, perfect for using as a practice dummy.”

Brandt sniffed and said, “You laugh now, but I am going to beat you in the tournament.”

Palis barked a laugh and said, “You will be lucky to make it into the same tier as me.”

“I placed high enough in the spring tournament,” Brandt defended.

“Only because most of us were stuck at the field training our uncle insisted upon,” Palis remarked.

Rezkin arched a brow. “Field training?”

Brandt rolled his eyes and answered, “The general got it in his head that we should all know how to survive in the wild ‘just in case.’ Luckily, I got to leave early to participate in the tournament.”

Malcius added, “It was supposed to be survival training for young lords, but try telling a bunch of nobles to leave their finery at home. Everyone had massive tents and soft cots, wine and bread and cheese aplenty. It was more like a three-week social gathering. Uncle Marcum was furious.”

“You were there with the rest of us,” Brandt chided.

Malcius shrugged, “I admit it. I like my fine things and prefer to live in comfort. Besides, it was ridiculous. When would we ever need such skills? It is not like we go wandering off into the wild. We live in the city, and we travel by ship or in a caravan of coaches and guards with people to see to our needs. I do not see why I need to know how to trap a rabbit or build a fire pit.”

Frisha, who had been very quiet up until now, straightened and lifted her chin. “Rezkin can do all of those things. He is quite the skilled woodsman.” Rezkin gave her a warning glance, but she ignored it and continued. “When we traveled the river before, much like now,” she emphasized, “we encountered a problem with a massive gang of bandits. We were forced to abandon the ship and travel by land for a week with not much more than a single pack each. Rezkin and the soldiers hunted for food, set up camps, and battled the bandits. Rezkin even treated the soldier’s wounds afterward. What do you think you could do if the ship went down and you lost all of your finery?”

Mouths were agape all around and Frisha felt a small satisfaction with the nobles’ loss of composure. Eyes darted back and forth between Frisha and Rezkin. Rezkin cocked his head and studied Frisha curiously. It was interesting that when she finally gathered enough courage to speak with conviction, it was to do so in his favor.

Malcius recovered first and waved off Frisha’s claim, “Yes, yes, but you had the soldiers with you to take care of things, and killing a few bandits can hardly be considered a battle.”

Frisha scowled. “There were several dozen bandits and only six soldiers. Tam and I had no weapons training at the time, and we were pretty much useless. Rezkin was magnificent, though,” she said as she took a note from Shiela’s book and batted her lashes at him. Frisha had not really seen much of the battle, actually. She was too busy trying to keep the panic at bay, her eyes darting in every direction, seemingly all at once. She had picked up bits and pieces of the discussions between the soldiers and Jimson afterward, though. She knew Rezkin had been quite impressive but did not know to what extent. “Besides,” she continued, “that was only the first time we battled with bandits.”

The others were a mixture of confused and impressed, but Tieran was terrified. He had seen the look of death in Rezkin’s eyes when they first met in Kaibain, and now he knew for certain that Rezkin was no stranger to bloodshed.

Rezkin suddenly laughed boisterously and waved away the serious mood, “You know I can never seem to sit still for long. I am always picking up some new hobby. I suppose I have acquired an odd assortment of skills here and there. Woodcraft can actually be quite intriguing and relaxing, you know. The general may be on to something, if not for the reasons you think. You can never understand the value of what you gain by depending only on yourself unless you have tried it. Things are different when you do not have servants looking after you. After you dispel such a weakness, I am telling you, the confidence you gain is simply intoxicating.”

Malcius raised his brows, “You think having servants is a weakness?”

“Not having them. Needing them,” Rezkin replied, holding up a finger for emphasis. “For me, servants are a luxury – a right of status, wealth and power, but they are not a necessity. I can survive without them, if necessary,” Rezkin stated with smug pride.

“I guess I see your point,” Malcius replied. He rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably. “To tell the truth, I do not know what I would do if I were put in such a position that I needed to fend for myself. I cannot honestly say that I would survive,” he added with a bit of chagrin. Palis and Tieran shifted uncomfortably, each knowing they would fail under the same circumstances.

Shiela, however, had caught onto a different strand of Frisha’s story. “So, Cousin, am I to understand that you traveled for weeks alone with a host of men?” Her tone was light but filled with accusation.

Frisha lifted her chin and replied, “That’s right. Tam was my escort. He is like a brother to me, and he swore an Oath of Protection to my father. Besides, Rezkin was providing his protection, as well.” She left out the fact that she had only met Rezkin partway through the journey and had really known nothing about him.

“Yes, well, Master Tamarin is not your brother. He is not related to you in any way, and the oath of a commoner means nothing to me,” she replied with disdain.

“Then, I suppose I am fortunate that your opinion means nothing to me,” Frisha replied acerbically. “Besides, would you question Rezkin’s honor, as well?”

Shiela huffed, “Of course not, but it is obvious you have done something to catch his attention. I cannot imagine any other reason he would want someone like you.”

Rezkin stood abruptly, the chair scraping across the floor. He towered over Shiela with a disapproving gaze. It lacked violence but held the scorn of a father scolding a child.

“Lady Shiela, I take offense to your accusations and slander against my lady’s character. Lady Frisha is and has always been a respectable woman, and she should be commended for her bravery and dignity during such trying times. You have made a number of unfounded assumptions. I also take offense in your comments against Master Tamarin, who I have the honor of calling friend. It matters not that you would question his honor since, from what I have seen, you seem to have very little. Unlike you, I actually know Master Tamarin, and I hold his oath in high regard. If you must belittle others to make yourself feel better, then you should do silently, in your own mind, where only you will suffer from your poison. You will certainly abstain from speaking such vileness in my presence.”

Rezkin held out his hand and said, “Come, Frisha. Please join me on deck for some fresh air.”

Chapter 2

Frisha’s anger at Shiela fled with Rezkin’s defense of her honor. She was glad he included Tam, as well. She did not like hearing such negative things said about her best friend. The two found the young man sitting solemnly as he gazed across the water. The horizon was painted in a veritable pallet of bright pinks and oranges and gold that faded into the violet and indigo of the starry sky above. The swath of colors reflected in the waters below, and the three felt surrounded by something so much more beautiful and important than the petty problems of the day.

The companions gossiped and chatted, or rather, Frisha and Tam did. Rezkin, for just a short time, seemed to be his usual self. While Frisha enjoyed Rezkin’s smiles and uncharacteristic laughter, she found that she was happier when he was simply himself. Eventually, the dinner bell rang and the three found their way to the dining room, or mess, as the sailors called it.

Rezkin chose to dine with Frisha, Reaylin, Tam and Jimson who invited his men to join them as well. The young warrior eyed the nobles with haughty disdain and made it obvious he was snubbing them due to Shiela’s unbecoming behavior. As a result, the others made numerous scolding comments that Rezkin could not hear, but the young woman’s face flushed deeper red each time. Malcius and Palis cast several apologetic glances his way. It was all a show for the nobles on Rezkin’s part, though, because he found that he actually enjoyed spending the time with his friends. This particular scenario that he had designed for himself was more complicated than any he previously practiced. He had to completely engage himself in the part of the self-important noble while maintaining his relationship with his friends who knew he was playing a role without being a part of it or understanding why.

That night, when Malcius’s head hit his pillow, Rezkin was nowhere to be seen. When he woke in the morning, the noble could tell that Rezkin had been there at some point, but the man had already gone. Malcius was uncomfortable with the distance that had been wedged between them with Shiela’s insensitive words. His sister had been out of line. Ever since she saw Rezkin, she had been pushing the bounds of what was proper, and she seemed to have decided there was some rivalry between her and their common-blood cousin. Malcius could not understand why Shiela felt the need to lay claim to this man. She had plenty of others fawning after her, and he doubted she would be willing to give any of them up just yet in pursuit of marriage. Shiela enjoyed the attention too much.

Later that day, everyone was gathered at the midday meal, and Malcius attempted to make amends. “Lord Rezkin, as the Heir to House Jebai, I would like to formally apologize for my sister’s behavior. It is true that mother and father spoil her more than is probably good for her,” he said with a sideways look at the woman in question, “and she has yet to learn some of the subtleties of proper decorum. While she is a lady who is entitled to her opinions, she must learn that there are some things that should not be said in certain company.”

Rezkin hummed under his breath and said, “There are some things that should not be said at all.”

Malcius’s shoulders slumped, and he released a heavy breath. “I concede that point, Rez, but surely you can understand Shiela’s perspective. As a lady, she is entitled to respect and dignity. We were raised in proper society, our parents both of noble birth. Our blood has a purity that Frisha will never have no matter how many fancy gowns she dons.” He looked at Frisha apologetically but with confidence in his words. “And, as far as your friend, Master Tamarin, is concerned,” he glanced at Tam briefly, “it would not be appropriate for even you to provide escort for the lady, even under an Oath of Protection. You cannot expect Shiela to place the value of Tam’s oath above that of your own. A lady simply cannot travel alone with men of no blood relation.”

“Shiela is entitled to her opinions, but I do not have to agree with them. And, she is not the only one deserving of respect and dignity. Everyone should be treated with such, even the commoners – especially the commoners.” Malcius’s brow rose and his mouth opened to speak, but Rezkin continued. “The nobility enjoy rights, privileges, and luxuries that the commoners never will. The commoners work hard all their lives just so their families can survive and to provide high society with those luxuries. Many of them will never live a life of comfort. Sometimes a commoner’s dignity is all he has.”

Malcius groaned, “You are some sort of progressive, then?”

With a humorless laugh, Rezkin replied, “Not a progressive. If anything, I am antiquated. How much do you know, Malcius, of our history? How much do you know of the founding of Ashai?”

Malcius raised his chin and remarked, “I have studied the histories with my tutors.”

Rezkin actually chuckled. “But, to how much of it did you pay attention?”

Malcius grinned unashamedly. “You have me there. I cannot say I had much interest in history when I could hear the clashing of blades in the practice yard.

Rezkin shook his head and returned Malcius’s grin. “Well, you see, before there was a kingdom, there were a great many independent provinces.” Rezkin waved his hands over the table in front of him as though displaying a map. “There was no king, and there were no lords and ladies. They were just people. All of them were the same in status. They worked the land and built villages in which they all participated equally. But, as their numbers increased, some of the people realized that their neighbors had things they needed or wanted. People began to fight and argue over boundaries.”

Rezkin stood and began to pace slowly about the room and around the others as he spoke. His voice rose and took on the melodic cadence of a practiced bard. “Eventually, the people recognized that if they wanted to survive at all, they would need a certain amount of diplomacy. The people of each province gathered together and chose one from amongst them – one from each province who had proven to be honest, respectable, and dignified, a leader among them. They chose someone they could trust not to take advantage of the power they wished to bestow upon him. They chose someone they believed would always keep the best interest of his people at the forefront of his decisions. They called this man their lord.”

Rezkin abruptly stopped and made eye contact with each of the nobles for emphasis. “The lord’s job was not an easy one, though. It was fraught with hardship and danger, as he was responsible for representing the people before the lords of the other provinces.” The young bard took up his pacing once again and continued, “Knowing the lord was a great leader, the people began coming to him to help settle their own disputes within their villages. In thanks for the lord’s efforts, the people brought him gifts and afforded him luxuries and privileges when he visited their own villages.”

Rezkin shook his head sadly and said, “The lord’s life was constantly in danger, though, and soon the people saw a need to protect their chosen leader. They built him a fortress and provided him with guards. In return, the lord promised the people safety within the fortress walls if war should come to their province. The process was repeated over and again throughout the provinces. None were to be outdone as the people used the fortress as a symbol to demonstrate their strength and success.”

The bard’s voice dropped and darkened. “Then came the Great Enemy, as they called them at the time. The Jahartan Empire swept over the Drahgfir Mountains and across the Souelian Sea. Many provinces fell, and the others were each so focused on protecting their own that they never made the effort to band together. One leader rose among the people – not one of the chosen leaders – just one among the masses. This man bravely embarked on a quest to unite the provinces against their common enemy. He stood before each of the lords of the lands and spoke with passion about the combined strength and fortitude of the provinces. As more provinces fell, the lords were filled with fear for their people. One by one, they pledged their support for the man’s cause. When the time was right, this man, named Coroleus, gathered his forces and led them against the vastly greater might of the Jahartan Empire.”

Rezkin’s voice rose and filled with pride. “Much blood was spilled, but with determination, Coroleus’s forces prevailed. In the end, provinces were left in disarray, and the people were desperate for a symbol of hope and strength. The lords heeded their people’s wishes and named Coroleus their king. Thus, the Kingdom of Ashai was born. It was born by the blood and leadership of common men – common men who had earned the power and respect of their people.”

The attention of the entire room of passengers was riveted on Rezkin’s tale. Malcius finally broke the silence. “I say, Rezkin, you have the talent of a bard.” The young noble was both surprised and impressed.

Tieran shifted uncomfortably as he stated, “I had heard the story of King Coroleus, of course, but never so much about the old provinces. Certainly, I had not heard of any such…common origins. Your assertions can be verified?”

Rezkin waved away Tieran’s wariness with a flick of his hand. “Of course, dozens of surviving texts exist from the time in the libraries for anyone who wishes to read them, and hundreds of military, philosophical, and historical ramblings have been composed since. The facts are not in doubt.”

“You are saying the nobility should hold themselves to a higher standard?” Tieran asked uncertainly.

Rezkin knew he could never convince them that the nobles were not somehow innately superior to the commoners. As it was, he was walking a thin line, so he had to state things in a way they would respect. If he could not get them to believe the truth, he could at least get them to behave as proper nobles. Rezkin’s voice was deep and powerful. “The nobles are the higher standard. It is the purpose for which nobles were created,” he said pompously. It was the tone the others would expect from one of his status.

He sniffed condescendingly. “The Lady DeWindier and Lord Methers are prime examples that the blood does not make the noble,” he asserted. It was the latest court gossip that Lady DeWindier and Lord Methers were involved in a long-term torrid affair. Lord DeWindier finally caught the other noble in his wife’s skirts and nearly tore the man’s head free from his body. Now, the paternity of Lord DeWindier’s offspring was in question among the whispers of the flibbertigibbets.

Rezkin’s eyes locked on Shiela, “It is the manner in which he or she comports him-or herself that matters. Anyone else is simply not worthy of my time.” This last he said with such passive disdain that the others could not help but be shamed. Rezkin’s pronouncement was scathing and judgmental, just as the nobles would expect. He punctuated his remark by returning to his seat beside Frisha and his other friends, commoners and noble officers, alike.

Rezkin had observed the nobles at their homes and with their friends prior to the trip. He determined that Malcius was the kind of young man who was desperately seeking the approval of his father. In lieu of the unobtainable, he was likely to latch on to the strongest example of superiority he could find. If Rezkin had not been on the trip, Malcius would have selected Tieran as his model for emulation simply because of his hierarchical status.

Tieran, however, was not a strong leader of men, and he knew it. His arrogance and high-handedness with his cronies was nothing but bluster to cover for his natural insecurities. Palis had more independence than either of them, since he had little need to prove himself due to the fact that he was not the House heir. He still looked up to his older brother, though, and would follow his lead in most things.

Brandt, however, was a different story. He did not care to impress his father – quite the opposite, actually. It was like he was rebelling against the world. Rezkin considered that perhaps the young man resented being forced into the role as House heir. He did not seem to have a care for politics or court gossip beyond that which immediately affected him.

All of the heirs felt they had something to prove at the tournament. Malcius and Tieran were attempting to demonstrate that they were somehow worthy of being their fathers’ successors, while Brandt wanted to prove that he was his own man and not a boy under his father’s thumb. Palis seemed to be the only one who was along strictly for the excitement and love of the sport. Rezkin had planned his persona as the most efficient conqueror of the young men’s’ wills that he could conceive, and it was with this last bit in mind that Rezkin employed the next stage of his plan.

After the meal was over and the young people had wandered to the deck for some fresh afternoon air, Rezkin gathered Tam and Jimson and any of the other men who cared to follow. He motioned to Reaylin, too, as what he had planned might also interest the future competitor. The young warrior approached Palis who was chatting with the other lordlings. “It is an exquisite evening, is it not, Palis? The skies are clear and the waters are calm. I was hoping you would grace us with a demonstration of your skill. I heard that you have mastered the Bo’duen Parté, a most difficult sword form, I might say. It is an impressive feat.”

Palis’s brows rose in surprise. “Well, I do not know that I have mastered it, but I have certainly been practicing. I am not sure how you found out, though.” He eyed his brother and Brandt. “I have not really spoken of it publicly.”

“Palis, your humility is admirable. I did not mean to put your talents on display. I merely ask out of a…professional curiosity,” Rezkin said, smiling pleasantly.

“No, it is not that at all,” Palis reassured. “I would be happy to demonstrate. I just had not realized my meager accomplishment had been the subject of gossip.” He frowned at his brother and Brandt, again, and they both shook their heads emphatically. Of course, the young men had not mentioned anything to Rezkin. He had seen the young man practicing his forms when he was spying on the Jebais.

Tieran’s curiosity overcame his ego for a moment, and he asked, “What is the Bo’duen Parté?”

Rezkin glanced at Palis who did not seem eager to answer before offering an explanation of his own. “It is an archaic sword form consisting of a complicated series of challenging transitions. It lost popularity at least a hundred years ago due to its difficulty. You see, unless performed correctly, it is wholly inefficient. When performed by a master, however, it is extremely effective against opponents who are unfamiliar with the technique and even many who are.”

Tieran’s brows rose as he looked at Palis. “And you have mastered this technique?”

Palis flushed and ducked his head. “My performance is acceptable,” he said humbly. Rezkin grinned, and it felt more genuine than contrived. Perhaps Palis would be a good candidate for the Rules. Palis turned the attention back on Rezkin when he said, “Your knowledge of the subject is impressive, Rez. I have not met many others who have even heard of the form.”

Rezkin laughed and said, “Well, that was simply historical knowledge.”

Malcius grinned, “You do seem to be quite the historian, Rezkin. Are you a master of the technique, as well? I have been wondering where you hope to stand in the tournament.”

Hedging, Rezkin spread his hands and said, “I cannot say how I will do in the tournament. Dueling has never been my preference. I seem to have difficulty staying within bounds, so to speak.”

Captain Jimson eyed Rezkin sideways. He knew Rezkin was a Dual-Blade Swordmaster and Sword Bearer besides. If Rezkin knew of the technique, then he was probably a master of it, as well. Jimson also noted that Rezkin had not actually lied, either. In fact, pretty much everything the nobles believed about Rezkin was a result of assumptions and misdirection. Jimson frowned in thought. Rezkin had never even actually come out and told the lordlings that he was a noble. He had always spoken of nobles and commoners, alike, as third party entities. Rezkin was surprisingly honest in his deceptions, and Jimson started to wonder how much of what he knew of Rezkin was based on assumptions.

Malcius laughed, “Are you saying that you, of all people, have problems with following the rules?”

Rezkin smirked, an expression that looked odd on the warrior’s face, as far as Jimson was concerned. “I am just saying that there are many other Skills and techniques and hobbies that are worthy of my attention. I cannot seem to pursue just one.”

Now that Jimson was looking for it, he noticed that Rezkin’s answer had nothing to do with the question, but Malcius took his response as confirmation of his assumptions, regardless.

“So, you have a short attention span,” Malcius teased.

“It makes one wonder how long your attention will linger on our dear cousin,” Shiela remarked as she sidled up to the group. Frisha was not far behind, and she looked upset. Rezkin wondered what Shiela had been saying to his Girl Friend. The young warrior caught Frisha’s eye, and she raised her chin proudly. Rezkin’s lips turned up into a smirk. Whatever had gone down between them, it seemed Frisha had gotten the upper hand.

Rezkin ignored Shiela’s comment as being unworthy of his attention and turned back to Palis. “Then you are willing to demonstrate the technique for us?” Shiela flushed at the blatant dismissal. Palis also flushed, but only because of the combined attention of the group.

“Yes, I suppose a professional demonstration is in order,” Palis answered and then glanced around uncertainly.

Rezkin smiled and said, “The captain has given us leave to practice on the quarterdeck.”

“Right,” Palis said as he stepped through the group to lead the way.

The young Jebai demonstrated his skills with the Bo’duen Parté, which were quite good, and then everyone else seemed to want to demonstrate their own favorite techniques. After about an hour, Malcius realized that Rezkin had not had a turn at demonstration.

“Rezkin, come now. You started this. Do you not have some favored form to demonstrate?” Malcius pressed amicably.

Tieran, who had begun to wonder if he had overestimated the mysterious lord’s skills, was less affable as he commented, “Yes, Rezkin. You carry those two swords around all the time.” Disdainfully, he said, “Surely you have some ancient dual sword form in your repertoire.” With Tieran’s mocking tone, Rezkin realized it was time to reassert the threat of danger to the duke’s heir. As it happened, a demonstration of the dual sword form was ideally suited for such validation.

Rezkin intended to hide his identity at the tournament, and he did not want others guessing his identity in recognition of his technique and style. He would not be risking discovery by demonstrating a dual form, though, since tournament rules demanded the competitors fight with a single blade. It was unlikely any of these self-absorbed nobles would actually search out his name in the registry, and if he feigned getting knocked out of the competition early on when they were having their own matches, then they would have no reason to come and watch him.

Rezkin nodded and replied, “Of course. It is only fair, after all.”

Tieran eyed him suspiciously, and Rezkin knew the young lord had been waiting for this moment, hoping to find that Rezkin was all bravado. To everyone’s confusion, Rezkin unbuckled his sword belt and dropped it in Captain Jimson’s hands. The captain’s face paled as Rezkin grinned with a glint in his eyes. Jimson was the only one besides Rezkin who knew the significance of these blades. The captain could be killed just for holding the Sheyalins if anyone found out, and both of them knew it. It was a sentence that was unlikely to be enforced, even if someone did find out, since it was Rezkin who handed the swords to him in the first place; but still, it was a genuine fear. Jimson, being the officer in command, was unlikely to draw attention to himself for having them, though.

Rezkin bowed slightly to Lieutenant Drascon and Sergeant Millins and said, “Lieutenant, Sergeant, I respectfully request the honor of using your blades for this demonstration.” Both soldiers looked to their captain with surprise and confusion. Jimson nodded once, and the soldiers immediately drew their swords and handed them over to Rezkin.

Tieran and the others frowned. “You do not intend to use your own blades?” the duke’s heir asked, motioning to the weapons hanging in Captain Jimson’s grasp.

Rezkin waved away Tieran’s concern as unimportant. “No, no, they are unsuitable for such a demonstration. Besides, you wanted to see an ancient dual sword form, and this one requires identical blades. The soldiers’ blades are the closest we have, I believe.” In truth, it was the same technique he usually used when fighting with his Sheyalins, but what he said was true, and he did not want to reveal the extraordinary blades.

Jimson furrowed his brow. Rezkin’s comment about his swords being unsuitable would have made no sense to anyone who was really listening, but when he spoke with such conviction, everyone just seemed to accept it as truth. The army captain found himself smirking. He had been wondering how Rezkin would get away with not exposing his Sheyalins.

“But, those are unfamiliar swords,” Tieran protested. “They are close enough in length, but I am sure they are not even the same weight. You cannot just pick up random blades and expect to perform a dangerous dual sword form.”

Rezkin shrugged. “That is not the only problem,” he said. “This particular form is an introductory one of the ancient Goka warriors of the Jahartan Empire. They were the elite guard of the Emperor, and many were members of the Sen priesthood of necromancers, as well. The Goka were renowned for their acrobatics and dual sword wielding. The required swords, though, were very unlike these. Each sword was thinner with a single edge that curved slightly toward the tip. Their blades were also a bit shorter and much lighter than these. And, of course, we are on a moving vessel. But, we will see, will we not? It is what you asked for, after all.” Rezkin stated with casual indifference, as though it did not really concern him.

“Wait!” Frisha shouted. “What do you mean, it’s dangerous? You mean he could get hurt just performing it?”

Tieran nodded his head as he argued, “Dual sword wielding is always dangerous and extremely difficult. That is why no one does it but Masters and idiots.”

Frisha narrowed her eyes at Tieran and retorted, “And, you are trying to figure out which one Rezkin is.”

Tieran started to reply, but Rezkin cut him off. “Do not worry, love, I am sure I will be fine,” but Rezkin’s grin spoke of overconfidence. Frisha flushed at the endearment, and lost her line of thought.

Realizing that Rezkin could actually get hurt under the less than ideal circumstances, Tieran began to backpedal. “You do not have to do this just to satisfy me. I am sure you know plenty of other interesting techniques.” Now, he was almost sure that Rezkin was full of bluster. No sane swordsman would attempt what he was proposing. It sounded like Rezkin was emphasizing the difficulty of the technique so that someone would attempt to talk him out of it, and he could save face. Tieran actually felt bad for pushing the young man to do something so stupid.

“Nonsense,” Rezkin replied. “We are all curious, now.” At that Rezkin removed the doublet he wore over a stark white shirt and handed it to Frisha with a bow. He took up position in the middle of the quarterdeck. The ship rocked slightly, but his feet were sure. The warrior took a few sloppy practice swings and fumbled a bit with the swords. When the boat rocked again, he stumbled slightly and made it look like he was trying to pretend he did it on purpose.

Malcius pleaded, “Come on, Rez. Just show us something else.”

“Yes, I mean, I was only giving you a hard time, Rezkin,” Tieran said. “No harm done.”

Rezkin ceased his fumbling and straightened to his full height. A warrior’s gaze landed on the two young lords. He looked at Tieran with icy fire in his eyes. “Are you ready?” he asked.

In the next breath, Rezkin slipped into an elegant dance so smooth and graceful it could have been mistaken for a performance at a grand ball, if not for the deadly steel that was his partner. The glistening silver swords whirled in and out, spinning around Rezkin’s body. His motions were fluid and unrestrained as he twisted like autumn leaves in the wind. The forms were not actually that complex, at least not to Rezkin. The young warrior did not want to appear too impressive, so he selected a simple series; although, any dual sword form would be considered extremely difficult. These were the basic training techniques taught at the introductory to mid-level for a Goka, and the young nobles who were trained in swordsmanship should be able to recognize them as such.

It was not the difficulty of the forms with which Rezkin was aiming to impress, but with his masterful and seemingly effortless execution. His timing was with such precision that the swords sang a harmonic chorus in steady tempo, and not once did they clink together or strike the deck. He appeared as a man consumed with appearances. He held two deadly weapons, but the manner in which he comported himself suggested that he was most concerned with maintaining his presence and dignity by providing a perfect performance. This performance said that Rezkin was more of an artist than a fighter – a gentleman swordsman. His pride demanded he perfect the simplistic, rather than reach for more complicated mastery. When Rezkin completed the stunning series of forms, all motioned came to an abrupt stop, and only the lapping of the waters, creaking of boards, and slapping of sails intruded on the seemingly unnatural silence.

His breathing was calm and without exertion as the warrior stood staring down at the swords in his hands. He shook his head and looked up at the two lords, coolly remarking, “You are correct, Tieran. I would not suggest doing that series of forms with these swords.” Without meeting anyone else’s eyes, he strode over to the impressed soldiers and handed back their blades with proper thanks. He retrieved his sword belt and doublet and then looked around casually.

Rezkin’s audience had been mesmerized. Frisha was smiling with delight, and Captain Jimson wore a pleased grin. Knowing Rezkin was a Sword Bearer, Jimson had expected Rezkin to be amazing, but even he was surprised by the graceful display. The warrior avoided Shiela’s almost disturbing sultry expression as his eyes landed on Tam and Reaylin who were both bouncing excitedly. Rezkin had also managed to gain the attention of a number of crewmembers that had stopped in their work to watch.

Malcius recovered his voice first as he said, “By all that is Holy, Rezkin, that was amazing. I doubt I could ever move that gracefully.”

Tieran muttered, “Looked more like a dancer than a swordsman.”

Even though it appeared simple, the demonstration had been impressive in the eyes of his audience. The young warrior was still uncomfortable with the praise, though. It was a violation of Rule 14 for him to revel in success. The warrior had to remind himself that the showboating was for the benefit of the character he was playing. He would never have considered such a display if it had not been necessary for his plans. He needed to maintain the upper hand over the nobles, particularly with the duke’s son who had begun to question Rezkin’s abilities. The best way to maintain Tieran’s respect and compliance was through fear. Looking at the young man now, he knew he had succeeded, despite the lord’s bravado.

Rezkin turned his icy gaze on Tieran as he donned a feral grin. “Did you not find it to be a satisfactory demonstration of an ancient dual sword form, Lord Tieran?”

The look in Rezkin’s eyes offered a much more intimate demonstration of Rezkin’s sword skills. Tieran was aware that what Rezkin had done was not as easy as it looked. He could also assume from the man’s attitude that he could perform at a much more difficult standard, if necessary. Rezkin had been holding back, and Tieran knew it. As he held Tieran’s gaze, Rezkin reached over and placed an arm around Frisha. Tieran’s eyes darted to the young woman and back to Rezkin again. No doubt the young lord was reliving the first day they had met and was regretting every minute of it.

Tieran swallowed and nodded his pale, clammy face as he replied, “Yes, Lord Rezkin. It was quite impressive.” Determined not to appear completely intimidated in front of the others, Tieran sucked in a heavy breath, lifted his chin and said, “But, as attractive as it was, I am not sure it would hold up in a real fight. After all, battling an unpredictable opponent is nothing like dancing through sword forms.”

“What are you talking about?” Palis blurted. “It was beautiful. I have never seen such elegance and fluid motion. How did you find anyone to teach you such a thing? I have never even heard of it, much less seen it before.”

Rezkin shrugged, “I trained with two Masters of the techniques.”

“Where are these Masters now? I would very much like to meet them,” Palis said eagerly.

The young warrior furrowed his brow as his chest tightened, and he replied, “They are dead.”

Palis’s face fell. “Oh.”

The first mate suddenly appeared at the top of the steps. He glared at the crew members who were standing idly and barked, “What do you lazy swine think yer doin’? Get back to work!” He frowned at the gathered passengers and then stalked away.

As the sailors wandered back to their posts, a few of them could be heard muttering words that sounded close to “pretentious” and “court dandy.” Of course, to the rough men of the ship who were mostly brawlers, the elegant sword forms would look impractical and ostentatious.

Tieran rolled his eyes at Palis’s adulation and said, “It is not as if the forms were that difficult. He said they were introductory forms. He could not expect to go up against a skilled swordsman with introductory skills and hope to win.

Frisha interjected, “I thought that you said any dual sword form was difficult.”

Captain Jimson could not stop his mouth from blurting, “I do not remember Rezkin saying that these were the most difficult forms he had mastered, Lord Tieran.”

Tieran clamped his mouth shut and darted a glance at the mysterious noble. Rezkin really wished his friend had not pointed out that little detail, but perhaps it would help to silence the duke’s son.

Rezkin wore a slight smile as he shrugged back into his rich silk doublet and said, “Perhaps Lord Tieran is correct. A man can never say how he will fare in battle until he has faced off with his opponent.”

“But, you have been in battle,” Frisha protested. It was another statement Rezkin wished had not been made. His friends seemed intent on standing up for him, which he could appreciate, even if it was not ideal at the time.

“Yes, but they were only bandits,” he dismissed with a wave of his hand and a conceited sniff. The other nobles could be easily led to dismiss the bandits, as well. Such was the nature of their arrogance. Rezkin turned the conversation back to the tournament. “Besides, the dual sword form is useless for the tournament. Like I said before, dueling has never been my preference, but I am sure Tieran’s performance will be most impressive.”

“Well, I, for one, am relieved,” stated Malcius. “It is reassuring to know that you are not so perfect at everything. I was beginning to develop an inferiority complex.”

Captain Jimson shook his head at Rezkin’s masterful manipulation. Had he not known any better, he would have thought Rezkin was the skilled but pretentious court dandy the sailors thought him to be. Rezkin had a way of making things go according to his whims, and he made it look effortless. It was like Rezkin was two different men. The captain’s eyes caught on Frisha and then flowed to Tam and Reaylin. No, he thought, Rezkin is at least three men.

There was the Rezkin that Tam, Frisha, and Reaylin knew. He was the genuine, stoic warrior-protector who kept his friends close and treated the injured with a healer’s expertise and concern. Then, there was the Rezkin that Jimson and the general knew, who was the indomitable Sword Bearer embroiled in a kingdom conspiracy with an unexplained connection to the old King Bordran. Finally, there was the Rezkin the nobles knew. He was an overbearing, outspoken, chauvinistic fop who commanded respect with skill and decorum. Jimson now understood what Rezkin meant when he said he could play any role perfectly, and he could not help but wonder, Who is Rezkin really?

Rezkin turned his attention to Frisha and said, “Frisha, dear, how would you like to practice for a while? I am sure Reaylin and Tam are eager to get in some exercise, as well.”

Frisha flushed at the attention and began, “Oh, well, I don’t…”

Shiela interrupted, “Wait, Frisha is learning the sword?”

Frisha shook her head as Rezkin answered, “Well, she was learning the sword, but she refuses to carry one, so I switched her to throwing knives.”

“Why?” Shiela blurted.

Rezkin looked at her askance. “There is no guarantee I will always be around to protect her. Frisha is a strong woman with an adventurous spirit. She needs to be able to protect herself and not completely depend on others to do it for her.”

“But she is a woman,” Shiela argued.

Reaylin stepped forward. “And, that is a problem?”

Shiela sniffed. “You are a commoner. I would not expect you to understand. It is simply unseemly.”

Rezkin grinned, “On the contrary, Lady Shiela. Historians of the martial skills nearly all agree that the greatest warriors in history were the Soka of the Jahartan Empire. They were priestesses of the death goddess, Nihko, and were both feared and revered by all. The greatest of them was called the Meíshma, who actually outranked even the Emperor, himself. The priestesses were renowned, not only for their martial skills, but also for their great beauty, extreme intelligence and education, and enticingly seductive garb.”

Shiela huffed. “You would not know seduction if it slapped you in the face,” she grumbled under her breath, but Rezkin heard. Everyone heard.

A sly grin slipped over Rezkin’s lips as he replied, “I know it well enough to know you are not very good at it.”

Frisha gasped, and Shiela’s face heated. Palis and Malcius snickered while Reaylin burst into laughter. Shiela straightened her spine, lifted her chin and sidled up to Rezkin who still had an arm around Frisha. The young woman ignored her cousin’s presence and leaned in far enough that her breasts pressed against Rezkin’s chest. Rezkin held back from shoving her away, which was his natural instinct for more than one reason.

Shiela trailed a manicured nail along Rezkin’s strong jaw and spoke in a voice husky with insinuation. “Oh, my Lord Rezkin, if you would just cast my cousin aside, I will show you just how seductive I can be.”

Rezkin’s gaze darkened as he grasped her wandering hand. He leaned down closer to her ear. His deep voice matched Shiela’s sultry tone as he replied, “Lady Shiela, I am afraid that with your delicate constitution, you could not handle what I have to offer.” He dropped Shiela’s hand like it was a dirty rag.

Frisha stiffened under Rezkin’s arm. She had never heard him speak in such a manner, and the too-public insinuation of just what Rezkin was offering to Frisha was both flattering and insanely embarrassing.

Shiela was not ready to give up, though. “Do you not know, Rezkin? It is all about balance,” she purred. “Sooner or later you will realize that a strong man such as yourself needs a real woman, not some common-blooded trollop who dresses like a man and plays with swords. Dear Uncle Marcum has already rejected you,” she stated harshly, with hurtful intent. In a more soothing tone she continued, “It is time for you to look for someone more appropriate…and available.”

“Shiela!” Malcius barked. “Remember, you are a lady,” he scolded.

The young woman turned to her brother with a sweet smile and innocent eyes. “Dear brother, you know I only jest.” But, her eyes said otherwise.

Before Rezkin could reply, Shiela turned and sashayed away with an exaggerated sway of her hips. Rezkin narrowed his eyes at the woman’s retreating form and unconsciously pulled Frisha closer. Frisha was not sure if she wanted to scream her frustrations at Shiela or jump for joy at Rezkin’s possessive grip and outright rejection of her cousin.

Malcius strode up to Rezkin and gently bowed. “Once again, Lord Rezkin, I must apologize for my sister’s behavior. She has always been…flirtatious…but never so brash. If this keeps up, she will surely bring shame on our entire family.” Malcius glanced at Tieran, the duke’s son, with pleading eyes and then back at Rezkin, the man of high, but unknown, standing. “I can only ask that you take her at her word and consider her behavior for what she claims it to be – a jest.” Malcius lowered his eyes in embarrassment as he waited for a reply.

Rezkin smiled affably and beseeched, “Please, Malcius. Let us not stand with formalities between us. With any luck,” he squeezed Frisha closer, “we shall one day be kin.”

Malcius’s shoulders slumped in relief; but, still, his eyes sought Tieran. Tieran rolled his eyes and looked away as he waved a hand in the air, effectively washing away the concern.

“Your rejection only makes her bolder, you know,” Malcius confided. “She sees you as a prize that she will not give up easily. It was not long ago that she was after Brandt.”

“And, how did you divest yourself of her attentions, Brandt?” Rezkin inquired.

Brandt grinned shamelessly and replied, “I gave in.” His smile dropped, and he looked away. “After that, I suppose I simply no longer held any interest for her.”

Frisha huffed as she gripped her warrior’s arm tightly, “Rezkin will not be giving in.”

Malcius looked at her apologetically and then said to Rezkin, “Still, you might consider, if Uncle Marcum does not change his mind…”

“Malcius!” Frisha shouted as she stomped on her cousin’s foot. Frisha had not meant to become violent, at least not toward Malcius, but something inside her decided it had reached its limit and she just reacted.

“Ow! I cannot believe you did that, Frisha!” Malcius reprimanded. “I am sorry, Cousin,” he said emphatically, “but you have to know, there is a good chance that Uncle Marcum will not change his mind. As the future Head of House Jebai, I have to keep the best interests of the family in mind. A union between Shiela and Rezkin could be advantageous. I am just saying that Rezkin should keep an open mind.”

Frisha actually growled and stomped away like an angry wild cat. She was most irritated because Malcius was absolutely right. If she had been a lowborn commoner, she might not have understood. Being from a wealthy merchant family, she knew that the financial, political and social ramifications were important. Among the nobility, the consequences were only magnified.

Malcius turned his attention back to Rezkin who was frowning at Frisha’s frustration. “I am sorry, Rezkin, I do not mean to upset her. I am sure you understand the responsibilities I have toward my House.”

“Of course, Malcius,” Rezkin replied seriously. “I do understand your plight, but until I am convinced of my complete failure regarding Frisha, I would prefer that no one upset her. It is not a matter of a financial or political union between Frisha and me.”

Malcius nodded sadly, “It is a love match.”

Rezkin could not really say that it was love on his part, because he did not really understand the concept. He accepted, now, that it was possible that Frisha had actually developed feelings for him. Still, it was what he implied for his Girl Friend’s sake.

Tam jumped into the conversation as he interjected, “Rezkin offered to forgo her dowry if the general would change his mind. In fact, I believe he even proposed to buy the general’s approval.” Tam had been particularly impressed with Rezkin’s faithful commitment to his closest friend.

Tieran could not help but be drawn into the conversation in which he was previously uninterested. “You would actually turn down the general’s fortune and put out money for her?”

“Frisha is worth a thousand of the general’s fortunes,” Rezkin replied with sincerity. It was true. He could not imagine having to replace his Girl Friend and future wife with a woman like Shiela. He would never be able to eat or sleep again for fear of being poisoned or stabbed in his own bed. Shiela was the kind of woman who would cheat and plot behind his back simply for the sake of tearing him down and gaining the upper hand. He had read of the downfall of many great men at the hands of women like her. For a woman like Shiela, a soft hand would render her bold and controlling and a firm one would make her bitter and resentful. The only way to deal with a wife like that would be to simply rid himself of her before she caused him greater trouble. Rezkin had no intention of ever signing a marriage contract with Shiela.

Tieran shook his head. “You must have a better eye than I, Rezkin, for I do not see it.” He sighed lightly and added, “For your sake, though, I will try.”

Rezkin smiled broadly, and somehow it did not feel forced. The duke’s son would give Frisha a chance. If Tieran could be convinced to accept her as one of the peerage, then others would follow his example.

Chapter 3

The journey was going to be a long one for Malcius. As the future leader of his House, he was responsible for upholding the family name. Developing a friendship with Rezkin, as his father had ordered, came naturally, and he was grateful for it. He reviled the times he had to get close to someone he hated just for the sake of some power play. Malcius actually liked Rezkin, though.

Rezkin exuded an aura of power and confidence wrapped in a shell of courtly grace and propriety. He was congenial and diplomatic and one of the most approachable men Malcius had ever met, even though he also, oddly, had a dominance that was almost palatable. Malcius could not help but admire and respect the man. He felt the desire to prove himself to the lord in a way he had never expected. Somehow, he felt that if he had Rezkin’s approval, then he would be the kind of man his father expected him to be, or perhaps better. And, that was an odd concept. He had never considered that he could somehow be better than his father.

Shiela’s constant attempts at pandering were grating, though. For the most part, Rezkin shrugged them off with grace. Malcius and Palis had also been developing their friendships with Tieran, and he had enough empathy for their plight that he at least tried to look the other way when Shiela behaved shamelessly. At least her shame was contained while they were sequestered on the ship. It was only a matter of time before they returned to high society, and then Malcius would have to endure the full brunt of the rumors. His father would be furious when he heard.

The count was conveniently oblivious to his daughter’s usual coquettish behavior. He saw his dear, sweet daughter as an angel without vice, and everyone was simply too afraid to disillusion the powerful man. The Jebai heir was almost certain Rezkin would say nothing, at least for now, while he pursued Frisha. Tieran, however, had the clout to be heard, even by the count. If Tieran made the accusations, Malcius’s father could not afford to dismiss the claims.

On the fourth day, Malcius, Palis, Tieran, Brandt and Reaylin were on the quarterdeck practicing for the tournament when there was a sudden shout followed by a loud ripping and whizzing sound that abruptly stopped with a thunk. The young men and woman were looking all around for the source of the noise when another unexpectedly loud snap sounded. This one was accompanied by multiple shouts of, “Clear the way!” and “Look out below!”

The companions looked up to see a massive beam dropping toward them, tearing through the rigging. They ducked and scrambled to get out of the way, but the beam was dropping too fast. A loud drumming sounded and then a shadow sailed over their heads. Rezkin launched himself off the poop deck, past the mizzenmast and into the air. He grasped a dangling line, his momentum propelling him forward. Colliding with the falling beam, he effectively shoved it out of the way using his body weight and cracked a few ribs in the process. Rezkin released the rope, and he and the beam both tumbled the last dozen and a half feet to the deck. Rezkin’s landing was more graceful than it should have been for a man who just used his body to divert a falling timber of several hundred pounds, not to mention the collision with the ship after falling such a distance.

Reaylin cried out and ran up to the young man who had probably just saved her life for the second time. “Oh, Rez! Your hands!” she shouted.

Rezkin held out his hands that were bloodied and skinned from the rope. They burned furiously, but he ignored the pain, in addition to that caused by his cracked ribs. Reaylin was shaking with the shock of almost being crushed by the falling beam. Her emotions were in turmoil, and she felt something bubbling up from within her core. She swayed, suddenly afraid she was going to be sick. As soon as she grabbed Rezkin’s wrist, the feeling seemed to flow out of her, and she sighed with relief.

Rezkin’s brows rose, and he looked at Reaylin in surprise. “Reaylin, you are a healer!” he remarked in wonder.

“What?” Reaylin’s eyes grew wide as she looked at the knitting flesh on Rezkin’s hands. The young woman could not see it, but the aching in his ribs had stopped, as well, when the bones sealed back together. “No, I’m not!” she blurted.

Rezkin nodded and said, “Yes, you are. You just healed me without even meaning to do so. Is this the first time this happened?”

Reaylin shook her head emphatically, “No, I’m not! You’re mistaken. It’s all a mistake!”

The equally shaken lords walked over and examined Rezkin’s hands from a distance. The blood from the prior injuries was still present, but the flesh was unblemished. They all looked at Reaylin in shock. Malcius waved at Rezkin and said, “There lies your proof, Mistress Reaylin. You are a natural healer.”

“No! I. Am. Not!” Reaylin shouted. “I am a warrior! I won’t listen to this!” she screamed with tears in her eyes. She stomped her foot and ran away to her quarters.

The lords all looked at each other flabbergasted. “Why would she not want to be a healer?” asked Tieran. “She will no longer be considered a commoner. She will join the Mage class and receive due respect, not to mention she is guaranteed wealth.”

Even Rezkin was surprised and confused by Reaylin’s reaction. It truly made no sense. He knew that becoming a warrior was important to Reaylin, but he would not have guessed she would spurn such a rare talent as innate healing ability. The fact that she had healed him without intending to meant that her talent was probably fairly strong. The mage powers often first awoke in a talented person when that person was under distress. Afterward, the powers were unpredictable and difficult to call upon. Without proper training, Reaylin would probably be hard pressed to intentionally perform the same healing again.

Since no mages were aboard, and having apprenticed with the healers at the fortress, Rezkin decided he was probably the best person to speak to Reaylin about her newfound ability. The young warrior made his way down to Reaylin’s quarters and knocked softly on the door. He knocked several more times before the young woman finally answered.

“What?” she shouted. “Oh, it’s you,” Reaylin sniffed through blurry tears upon opening the door.

“May I enter?” Rezkin asked.

Reaylin shifted uncomfortably and looked back into her empty berth. She had dreamed of getting Rezkin alone in her room on many occasions, but in none of her dreams had it been under these circumstances. She ducked her head and stepped to the side, hesitating a moment before closing the door. It would not be considered proper to be alone in the room with him with the door closed, but at the moment, she did not really care. She did not want others listening in on their conversation. Not that she would have cared, anyway.

No chairs were available in the small room, so Rezkin sat on one of the beds. Based on its location in the middle, Rezkin assumed it was Frisha’s. Shiela may not like Frisha, but she would insist that her sort-of-noble cousin separate her from the commoner. Reaylin sat on her own bed facing Rezkin. Their knees nearly touched with the close proximity.

Rezkin cocked his head and asked, “What is wrong, Reaylin? Why are you upset?”

The young woman stared at her hands in her lap and sniffed. “I-I don’t want to be a healer.”

Rezkin waited for the young woman to continue. When she did not, he prompted, “Why not?”

Glancing up, Reaylin was caught in Rezkin’s crystal gaze, and she could not look away. “I am a warrior,” she said stubbornly. “I am strong and capable, and I will prove myself to any who say otherwise.”

The young man considered the woman’s words. “You think that being a warrior precludes you from being a healer? Or possibly the other way around?”

Reaylin lifted her chin. “Healers are weak. They do not fight. I’ve heard they even take oaths against doing harm or some such nonsense.”

Rezkin nodded his head now that he understood. “Do you think I am strong, Reaylin? Do you doubt that I am a warrior?”

The young woman’s eyes widened as she answered, “No! I mean, yes. I mean…yes, I think you are strong; and, no, I do not doubt you are a warrior.”

He nodded and asked, “Would your opinion of me change if I told you that I am also a Master Healer of the Mundane?”

Reaylin’s jaw dropped. “Are you?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“I am,” Rezkin declared. “I only tell you this so that I may serve as an example for you. You do not have to give up being a warrior just because you are also a healer. Having healing Skills is highly advantageous for a warrior. The fact that you are a natural healer will make people want to protect you. You know how rare they are. That does not mean that you cannot learn to protect yourself. After all, you cannot heal yourself if you are injured.”

In truth, Rezkin had already determined that Reaylin’s warrior skills would be limited to poor to mediocre. It was not because she was a woman or that she was small. Her mind was what held her back. She was temperamental, impulsive, and reactive, and she lacked the patience and focus needed to master the Skills. It was to her great fortune that she discovered a truly valuable hidden talent.

“But, people would expect me to heal them. Sick people and injured ones and…children, and they would expect me to fix them when I should be out battling the enemy,” she protested.

Rezkin raised his brows and asked, “What enemy, Reaylin? We are not at war.”

A shadow passed behind the woman’s eyes. “There is always an enemy,” she replied cryptically.

“Why do you want to be a warrior, Reaylin? Is it to protect people or to kill them?” Rezkin asked seriously.

“What do you mean?” Reaylin asked uncomfortably.

“A warrior serves two purposes – to kill or to protect. Sometimes you must kill in order to protect, but not every warrior cares to protect at all. Some are simply in it for the killing,” Rezkin explained.

“Well, I want to protect, of course,” Reaylin said casually, though without conviction.

“Are you sure that is true, Reaylin?” Rezkin asked.

The young woman shrugged. “I hadn’t really thought about it. I just know I want to be a warrior.”

“But why do you want to be a warrior, Reaylin?” Rezkin pressed.

She lifted her chin again. “I need to prove myself.”

“To whom?” Rezkin asked. “It is not to the army. They do not care one way or the other. It is not to you. You do not even know what kind of warrior you wish to be. So, to whom are you trying to prove yourself?”

Reaylin clamped her mouth shut. Rezkin shook his head and said, “You need to be focused, Reaylin. You must determine your objective. Know your purpose. Recognize your talents and capitalize on them. If you live your life for the sole purpose of seeking the approval of others, you will live no life at all. You will indubitably fail, for if that person cannot appreciate you for who you are, then he or she will never truly appreciate you at all. You will always be trying to prove yourself, and it will never be enough. Do not dismiss your healing abilities so quickly, Reaylin,” Rezkin continued. “It is a talent many of us could only wish to have.”

“Would you?” she asked disbelievingly.

“Of course,” Rezkin replied truthfully.

Reaylin’s stubbornness showed through once again, though, as she said, “Well, if I could somehow give it to you, I would.”

Rezkin maintained his smile as he winked playfully, “I will hold you to that.”

Reaylin blushed and returned his smile. A sudden impulse grabbled hold of her, and Reaylin leaned forward and kissed Rezkin full on the lips. The kiss only lasted a moment before she pulled back in surprise at her own actions. Rezkin had actually been caught off guard. He had been watching the young woman for weapons and any threatening moves and had not really considered the possibility that she might kiss him. When she leaned forward, in the split second that he realized what was happening, he thought she would kiss him on the cheek as he had seen other people do when thanking someone. Rezkin had learned from watching the plays in Kaibain that kissing someone on the mouth was not appropriate if he or she was in an established relationship with another, as Rezkin was with Frisha.

Reaylin turned bright red in embarrassment and then realized this was her chance. She smiled suggestively and batted her eyes as she asked, “Do you have anything else that needs my talents and attention, Rezkin?”

What is it with these women? Rezkin thought to himself. Nothing his masters had taught him indicated that women were typically so forward or willing. He was beginning to wonder if he was doing something wrong. Was he unintentionally propositioning them somehow? Did something in his speech or manner imply that he was looking to make a marriage contract or produce an heir? He was suddenly very glad he had Frisha to fill that role, and he did not need to worry about figuring out any of these other women. Frisha was…solid…and virtually harmless…and mentally stable. If he were not sure they were already dead, he would thank whoever was in charge of assigning his friends. They had done him a great service in selecting Frisha to be his Girl Friend. He shuddered at the thought of Shiela or even Reaylin in the role.

Rezkin abruptly stood and bowed courteously toward the young woman. “I had best be going. I hope you will consider what I have said.”

The young man opened the door to find Frisha standing on the other side with her hand raised to clasp the handle. A look of surprise crossed her face as Rezkin smiled and bowed slightly. “Frisha,” he greeted before maneuvering around her and heading back up to the main deck. Reaylin beamed ear to ear at Frisha’s shocked and suspicious expression. She nearly laughed when Rezkin did not even stop to explain his presence alone with her in the room.

Frisha narrowed her eyes at Reaylin and asked, “What was going on in here?”

Reaylin replied casually, “We were talking.” Belatedly she added, “He really has the softest lips, doesn’t he?” as she smiled like a love-struck dreamer.

Frisha’s eyes widened and her mouth dropped open. “You didn’t!”

Reaylin shrugged and replied, “We did.”

Frisha clenched her teeth and growled as she stormed back up to the deck, plowing across the planks in a fury. When the fuming woman stopped about a foot away, Rezkin became wary of her hostile posture and heated glare. She breathed heavily as her nostrils flared, her fists and teeth were clenched, and she looked angrier than he had ever seen her.

Rezkin cocked his head to the side in genuine confusion and asked, “What is wrong, Frisha?”

“What-…what is wrong, you ask?” Frisha practically shouted. The scene drew the attention of several of the other passengers and crew.

Rezkin paused in bewilderment. The question seemed too simple. “Yes?” he asked with a furrowed brow.

Frisha growled and stomped her foot. She thrust her finger in his face and said “You! You kissed her!”

Shiela’s amused smirk turned to surprise along with Malcius and Tieran. Tam and Palis were still up on the quarterdeck, but the commotion caught their attention, so they made their way over to the gathering. Reaylin stood in the doorway of the cabin grinning.

“I did not kiss anyone,” Rezkin replied.

“She said you did!” Frisha accused.

“Who?” Malcius asked. “Shiela?”

Frisha scowled at him. “No! Her,” she said pointing at Reaylin.

“Well, well, not so innocent after all,” remarked Shiela. “I thought it was something particular to my dear cousin, but now I see that you are simply one of those men who likes to toy with the common women. Tell me, do you have half your maids knocked up by now? Come, Rezkin, stop playing with the help and accept a lady worthy of you.”

Rezkin cocked his head as he considered Shiela. His eyes were cold and assessing, predatory, and his hand hovered over his hilt. The others may have thought Rezkin was thinking of a response or perhaps considering Shiela’s offer, but Tieran and Jimson had both seen that look before. Tieran’s eyes darted to the army captain, pleading for him to step in and prevent the bloodshed. Jimson met the future duke’s eyes and then took a step back, lowering his own gaze to the deck. Tieran’s jaw dropped. The army captain assigned by the general, himself, would do nothing to stop Rezkin from killing Shiela, if he so chose.

“Shiela,” Tieran prompted steadily, “You might want to find yourself elsewhere right now. Perhaps you would like to rest in your quarters?”

Shiela actually snorted, “Not likely. This is far too interesting.”

“Is that true, Rezkin? Do you just play with commoners?” Frisha asked angrily. She knew she was being ridiculous. She knew Rezkin had only been acting the part of the pompous noble – at least, she thought she did. He didn’t even have servants – at least, she thought he didn’t.

Frisha’s question drew Rezkin’s attention back to her, and the promise of death previously directed at Shiela melted away. He leaned back casually against the railing and asked, “Is that what you believe, Frisha?”

The young woman huffed. The wind seemed to leave her sails as she said, “Well, no. But, Reaylin said you kissed.”

Rezkin shrugged. Frisha’s anger gradually seeped away with his apparent lack of concern. Rezkin appeared confident that there was no cause for worry, and Frisha desperately wanted to believe it. “I went to speak to Reaylin, and she kissed me.” He looked pointedly at Reaylin and continued, “At which point, I immediately left.” Reaylin blushed but shrugged her shoulders and smiled shamelessly.

“You were in the room together…alone,” Frisha accused.

“She did not wish for others to hear the conversation,” Rezkin replied.

“And, just what were the two of you discussing that others shouldn’t being hearing?” Frisha prompted.

Rezkin looked to Reaylin for a response, and she lost her smile and shifted uncomfortably. When she refused to answer, Rezkin shrugged and said, “She was upset by a recent development. I was the most appropriate person to speak with about her problem.”

Shiela gasped, “I knew it. You got her pregnant!”

Tieran grabbed Shiela’s arm and pulled her further away. She did not go quietly as he shoved her behind him. He was not sure why he did that, since he really did not want to get between Rezkin and the object of his wrath.

Rezkin frowned and clenched his jaw. He found that his anger most often overcame him when his honor was questioned. “If Reaylin is pregnant, then I am not aware of it, nor would it be my problem. Conversely, if it were my problem, by my honor, I would take responsibility for my actions. As it is, I have taken no actions with Reaylin that could result in such a problem, nor do I wish to.”

Frisha flushed. It had not been her accusation, but the thought had crossed her mind. She felt guilty for doubting Rezkin in such a way. “Then what was so important?”

Malcius saved Rezkin from having to answer when he finally realized what had happened. “Rezkin saved her life, possibly all of ours. Reaylin got upset when she found out she is a healer.”

“Wait, what? When did this happen?” Frisha asked in confusion.

Tam shook his head, “Didn’t you hear the crash and all the shouting?”

Frisha blushed, “Well, yes, but I was…um…indisposed at the time.”

Tam rolled his eyes. “This giant beam fell from up there,” he pointed to where the mast was tangled and the sails were torn. “It nearly crushed us, but Rezkin flew through the air and used his own body to knock the beam out of the way.”

Frisha gasped and put her hands over her mouth, “You could have been killed!”

“If he hadn’t, we would have been killed – or at least seriously injured. Rezkin was only hurt a little,” Tam said furrowing his brow in confusion. “He must have gotten really lucky. Anyway, Reaylin was so shaken that it must have triggered her dormant mage powers, because when she grabbed his arm to look at his injuries, she healed him instantly.”

Everyone looked at Reaylin who scowled in return. “I am not a healer!” she shouted before stomping back down the stairs.

“Ah, she was really upset, as you can see,” Tam finished.

Frisha was shocked that Reaylin was a natural healer, but she was trying to stay on topic. “So, why were you the one who needed to talk to her?”

“Because there are no mages on board,” Rezkin replied.

“So? What does that have to do with you?” Frisha asked in puzzlement and more than a hint of frustration.

Rezkin sighed. “Reaylin believes that she cannot be both a healer and a warrior, and we all know she feels it is important to prove herself as a warrior. I am both a healer and a warrior, so, naturally, I am a good example for her.”

“You are a healer?” Malcius asked curiously.

“Rezkin is a Master Healer of the Mundane,” Captain Jimson supplied. The general had confided that bit of information to him before the journey. Marcum wanted to make sure Jimson knew Rezkin was capable of handling any injuries. It had not come as much of a surprise, since Jimson had witnessed some of Rezkin’s healing ministrations.

Tieran protested, “You are too young to be a Master Healer of any sort. It can take decades to achieve such status.”

Rezkin shrugged. He did not want to talk about his Skills and accomplishments. “The conversation has digressed,” he said. Looking at Frisha coolly, he asked, “Are you satisfied, Frisha?”

The young woman flushed and shifted uncomfortably, “Um…yes…with you. I am still angry with her.”

Rezkin moved closer and leaned down to whisper in her ear where only she could hear his words. “I do not appreciate you questioning my honor, Frisha, especially so publicly. I would not dishonor you so.”

As Rezkin walked off, Frisha flushed with shame. She had been hurt and angry and reacted badly. Worse, she had let Reaylin get to her. She knew both Reaylin and Shiela would do whatever they could to steal Rezkin. It was wrong of her to accuse Rezkin without even first inquiring about his side of the story. Rezkin had every right to be angry with her. He could have yelled or stormed away, but instead he stood calmly and accepted her accusations in stride. Frisha refused to meet Tam’s disapproving gaze. The others broke apart to go about their own business.

Tieran ignored the blubbering Shiela who was berating him for his rough treatment. He approached Captain Jimson who was trying to avoid him. When he finally cornered the army captain, Jimson sighed and stood straight and proud.

“You saw the same thing I saw, Captain. I know you did,” Tieran accused. “Rezkin had murder in his eyes when Shiela would not shut her mouth; and you, the commander of this little party, refused to do anything about it.”

Captain Jimson locked eyes with the young lord and replied, “I know my place, Lord Nirius. I follow orders, comply with the law, and enforce it when necessary.”

“Are you afraid, Captain Jimson? Do you fear him so much that you would stand idly by while he kills a woman?”

“With all due respect, Lord Nirius, you do not know that he would have attacked her. People often think of carrying out acts they would not actually perform,” Jimson replied.

“But, you made it clear you would not interfere if he did,” Tieran asserted.

“You are correct. I would not,” Jimson responded.

“Why? Because he is your friend?” Tieran inquired. “Would you shirk your duties for an acquaintance, Captain?”

“The captain would not interfere because it is not his right to do so,” a deep voice interrupted from behind.

Tieran spun to find Rezkin standing too close for comfort. “Who are you, Rezkin?” he asked with a mixture of fear and accusation.

Rezkin grinned darkly and replied, “I am someone who could kill a woman in public without concern for the good captain’s intervention.” Rezkin paused for effect and then chuckled lightly. “Come on, Tieran, do you really think I would kill an innocent woman in front of all these witnesses,” Rezkin waved his arm over the whole ship, “for doing nothing but wagging her poisoned tongue? Do you really think I am capable of such a thing? Or that I am an idiot?”

Tieran lost some of his confidence. “No, perhaps not. But, I know the captain would not have interfered if you had. Besides, you just said that he did not have that right.”

“And, that is true,” Rezkin nodded. “It may surprise you to hear this, Lord Tieran, but Captain Jimson is not the commander of this expedition. I am.”

“You? Who are you to be commanding anyone?” Tieran scoffed.

“Who indeed?” Rezkin mused. He waved away the question and said, “This was never his expedition. It was always mine. I was going to the tournament, and Frisha wanted to come along. The general knew that Captain Jimson was also going to the tournament, so Marcum assigned the captain and his men as a protection detail. Since Frisha could not travel with me alone, the general joined our party with that of the Jebais. In the end, I am responsible for the safety of everyone present, even Lady Shiela. It would be very poor protection, indeed, if she were to end up slaughtered on the deck by my own hand.”

Tieran ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “I suppose that does make sense.” He performed a slight bow toward the captain and said, “I apologize, Captain Jimson. I was out of order. I did not realize you were not the commander of this party.” Jimson nodded his acceptance, and Tieran looked back at Rezkin. “I apologize to you, as well, Rezkin. I realize, now, how absurd my fears were. But, seriously, you are kind of frightening sometimes.”

Rezkin laughed as he placed a hand on Tieran’s shoulder and guided him away from the relieved captain. Rezkin remarked, “Tieran, sometimes our instincts warn us of dangers our consciousness does not perceive. Other times… we just die.”

Tieran looked at Rezkin askance and then laughed. “That was not comforting at all, Rezkin.”

“Hmm, no it was not, was it?” Rezkin replied with a grin, managing to calm the young lord and keep him on edge at the same time. Jimson shook his head both in admiration and aversion. Rezkin truly was a master manipulator of the truth.

After nearly a week, the ship’s captain announced that they would be stopping over in the riverside town of Teurning. Teurning was a moderate-sized logging town in the Barony of Fendendril that most people simply called Fenden. The baron and his son were also traveling to the tournament and would be boarding the ship. The weather, so far, had been ideal, and despite the earlier mishap, the ship was more than a day ahead of schedule. The crew would be able to make necessary repairs, and it was the perfect opportunity for some much-desired shore leave for the passengers.

Pride was especially grateful for the respite from his confinement aboard the ship. He was restless during the best of times, and he was becoming positively unruly as time passed. Rezkin decided to take the stallion for a run along the forest road. When he mentioned his plans to the ship’s captain, one of the deck hands overheard. The man, originally from the town, indicated the location of a scenic spot, complete with waterfall and crystal pool, which he should take in along the way. Hearing this, Frisha decided she needed to see the place. Since Frisha desired to go along, Tam, Jimson and his soldiers were obliged to go as well. Not to be left out, Reaylin demanded a place among them.

Captain Jimson procured horses for the group at the general’s expense. Rezkin was relieved that the nobles had little interest in traipsing through the forest and desired nothing more than to luxuriate in the comfort of a hot bath and a few bottles of wine at the inn. Frisha insisted on taking a picnic along, which was not a bad idea considering they intended to be gone for several hours.

Rezkin found himself watching the young woman as she strolled up to her assigned mount. She wore a beige tunic with brown pants. Her corset-like knife belt accentuated her narrow waist and emphasized her womanly curves. Rezkin realized he was not evaluating the length or consistency of her gait or the manner in which her weight fell on her feet. For a brief moment, his assessing mind was quiet as he silently appreciated the soft sway of her hips. Rezkin shook his head to clear his thoughts. Somehow, Shiela’s overbearing attempts at seduction had only succeeded in highlighting Frisha’s less contrived, natural femininity. Unlike with Shiela, Rezkin did not feel inclined to decapitate someone every time Frisha was present.

Tam, still wanting to join the army after the tournament, had been spending more time with the soldiers. They showed him some of their formal drills and instructed him on proper behavior and army speak. He was a little less enthusiastic, though, when he found out the soldiers had not traveled or had any adventures. It seemed that most of the common soldiers spent their days and nights performing drills, standing guard against nonexistent threats, and providing some form of escort. Even the officers were relegated to paperwork more often than not. Tam started to wonder if maybe being a carpenter would be more exciting.

The group mounted up, and Rezkin took the lead with Jimson at his side. Lieutenant Drascon and Sergeant Millins followed in the rear with Tam, Frisha, and Reaylin in the middle. Every so often, Rezkin darted ahead, presumably to scout, but mostly so that Pride could get in a much-needed run. It was midmorning and already the day was a little too warm. The sun was shining brightly, and the sky was a vivid blue and completely devoid of clouds.

After about an hour, Rezkin spied the game trail that led off into the forest. The trail looked more like a footpath due to frequent use by visitors. The young warrior led the group off the road and into the trees. Inside the forest, the temperature was much more temperate. The shade from the canopy kept the ground cool, and a soft breeze rustled through the leaves. The air was pleasant and scented of earthy musk, fresh moisture, and crisp leaves; and every so often, a subtle hint of moss or flowers drifted among them. As the travelers encroached on the untamed timberland, the usual sounds of the wild dimmed to only a few birdcalls high in the trees and the rustling of brush as small animals scurried away.

The thinning of the trees ahead marked the group’s arrival at their destination. The scenic area was just as the deckhand described. The waterfall was relatively small, only about thirty feet high and barely wide enough for two people to stand under side-by-side. The waters tumbled over stark black rocks arranged in an unusual geometry. It looked as though a stonemason had carved them into small pillars stacked together and tilted nearly on their sides. The rocks were broken off at the cliff face leaving a jagged honeycomb design. Bright green moss covered parts of the small cliff face and the rubble at its base and disappeared beneath the surface of the clear, black pool.

The pond water was cold and fresh, kept clean by the constant flow of the waterfall at one end, which exited via the creek at the other. Clumps of pollen and leaves drifted in lazy swirls across the surface, and every so often, a fish snapped at a bug or a turtle popped its head up to watch the silly humans. The scenic observers tied their horses at the creek end of the pond and wandered over to a clear spot where the ground was not as damp. They laid out several blankets on which to sit and spread a small feast among them. Captain Jimson surprised them all with a few bottles of wine he purchased in the village.

Jimson wandered around the group pouring wine and then casually took a seat near Reaylin. It was not so difficult to find space, since Reaylin was always a little more withdrawn from the rest of the group. The captain did not know if Reaylin distanced herself by choice or if it was simply because the others did not care for her. Jimson understood why the others judged her harshly. Reaylin had a habit of acting recklessly, and she was often immature and cared little for how her actions affected others. Quite frankly, she was selfish and frustrating. Jimson felt, though, that underneath all that bluster and attitude was a sensitive, caring woman who just needed someone to love her and make her feel special. Reaylin’s energy and passion made Jimson feel more alive, and he typically saw her antics as humorous and endearing quirks of the girl’s unusual personality. Her only fault, for which he absolutely did not care, was her obsession with Rezkin.

Jimson knew why the young woman felt the way she did. By all accounts, Rezkin was a handsome, powerful man with a confidence and bearing to rival the king. The captain could not hold it against the man, though, since Rezkin was always genuine and forthright about his feelings and intentions toward the women. Jimson saw how they all fawned over the young man, but Rezkin never took advantage or encouraged their attentions. It was obvious that Rezkin had eyes only for Frisha, and the other women were simply unwilling to accept that. When the general rejected Rezkin’s proposal, Jimson had been shocked and severely disappointed. Reaylin now completely dismissed Frisha’s claim on the stout warrior, and her obsession had only deepened. Jimson had no idea how to claim the young woman’s attention for his own.

The captain cleared his throat and offered, “Ah, Mistress Reaylin, would you care for some wine?”

Reaylin raised a brow as she swallowed a bite of apple. “Sure, but you have to stop calling me mistress. It makes me feel old and doesn’t at all sound like something you would call a warrior.”

Jimson bowed slightly and said, “What, then, do you wish for me to call you?”

Reaylin grinned cheekily. “Amazing, beautiful, goddess, perfection…” she listed as her voice trailed off.

The captain bowed again and replied, “Very well, Beautiful. I endeavor to please.”

Reaylin flushed and laughed, “Oh, come on Jimmy, I was only kidding.”

Jimson smiled, enjoying the sound of her laughter. The captain’s older brothers had teased him relentlessly as a child, often calling him Jimmy, but he found that he rather liked the sound of it on Reaylin’s lips. He shook his head and remarked, “It would only be humorous if it were not true. As it is, I will always feel inclined to call you amazing.”

Reaylin’s eyes widened, and her mouth parted in surprise. Jimson was just as surprised by the words that seemed to spill out on their own. He lowered his eyes to the ground in embarrassment. He knew Reaylin would not return his affections – at least, not while her mind was filled with a certain desirable warrior. After a moment of silence, a wooden cup was thrust into his view. Glancing up, he saw Reaylin smiling at him sweetly and realized he had yet to pour the proffered wine. Jimson filled Reaylin’s cup, but his attention was snagged when he heard his name. Rezkin’s voice cut through the uncomfortable silence.

The young warrior was speaking to Drascon and Millins, just slightly louder than was necessary, considering their proximity. “That is correct,” he was saying. “The general allowed him to pick any one of the swords he desired. As a reward for his bravery and for saving the life of the general’s niece, the lieutenant was raised to captain and awarded an exquisite master blade from General Marcum’s own personal collection.” The young warrior’s gaze slipped past Jimson and almost imperceptibly lingered on Reaylin before returning to his audience.

Lieutenant Drascon whistled in awe and then asked Jimson, “You have been to the general’s home, then? You have actually spoken with him?”

With a twinkle in her eye, Frisha commented, “The captain is a regular guest. He has dined with General Marcum on several occasions, and I know of at least one subject for which he is held in the general’s strict confidence.” Frisha eyed Rezkin sideways with the last remark.

Sergeant Millins remarked, “Wow, I had no idea I was assigned to a captain of such esteem.”

Reaylin eyed Jimson thoughtfully and then asked excitedly. “Is that true? Can I see it?”

Jimson jerked his attention back to Reaylin in surprise. “See what?” he asked with confusion.

Reaylin smirked. “Your master blade, silly.”

Heat stole across his nape, and he was sure his face was flushed. He said, “Oh, yes, of course.” He shifted positions so that his legs were crossed in front of him and pulled his scabbard across his lap. As the blade slid out smoothly, the light caught on the faint, iridescent ripples in the metal.

Reaylin bounced up onto her knees as she leaned in to get a closer look. “Wow, I can’t believe the General of the Army of Ashai gave that to you. It’s amazing. He’s really frightening, you know. That first time I met him, I actually thought he was going to call the whole Ashaiian army down on Rezkin.” Jimson’s smile fell slightly at the mention of the young warrior. The conversation performed an immediate about face and was back to his friend.

Sergeant Millins exclaimed, “You got into a fight with the General of the Army?”

Rezkin laughed and replied, “I would not say there have been any fights, but we have had a number of heated arguments. I am pretty sure the general hates me,” he said before waving a hand toward Jimson and continuing, “but he holds the captain, here, in high regard.” And, just like that, Rezkin directed the attention back onto Jimson. The captain smiled at his friend’s efforts. He knew what Rezkin was trying to do, and he truly appreciated the attempt.

The group relaxed and chatted as they enjoyed the cool water on their feet. Everyone noticed a change in Rezkin. His pretense was subdued, and he acted much more like himself, which confused Drascon and Millins. Tam and Frisha wandered off with Rezkin who was pointing out various plants and their uses, when the two soldiers approached the captain with their concerns.

“Captain, we have noticed there is something wrong with Lord Rezkin. He does not seem to be acting like himself. Should we be concerned?”

Jimson sighed, ran a hand through his short, brown hair pensively, and chewed at his lip. He really wished Rezkin had let him in on his plan, but he was pretty sure it was primarily focused on the nobles. His two soldiers would not be targets of the plan, and he thought that maybe Rezkin simply expected him to keep them in line. He decided to just state the truth. If Rezkin had a problem with it, he could work his manipulation magic and fix it.

The captain waived a hand in Rezkin’s general direction and stated, “The Rezkin you see here is closer to who he really is…I guess. The flamboyant courtier you saw on the ship was for the benefit of the other nobles. He gives them what they expect and admire. As a result, they follow his lead. He’s been keeping them in line by way of example.”

Sergeant Millins shifted uncomfortably, his dark eyes darting around suspiciously as he lowered his voice saying, “That seems kind of underhanded, sir. Are you saying he’s a fraud?” Millins was a slight man with a slim build and average height. His black hair and eyes were in stark contrast to his pale skin. Although he was in his mid-thirties, his features were fine and boyish.

The captain shook his head and replied, “Not at all, sergeant.” At a thought, he chuckled lightly. “In fact, I have yet to catch him in a single lie.”

Lieutenant Drascon rubbed a stubbly jaw. He was a large, husky man with broad shoulders and sharp features. Besides his size and build, his blonde hair, blue eyes, and tanned skin often captured the attention of the ladies, particularly when he was in uniform. Drascon spoke rarely, and one could easily forget his presence, but his eyes revealed a thoughtful intelligence. Like Jimson, Drascon was from an offshoot of a minor House. Although people in their position were technically nobility, outside of the army, their lack of power and status separated them from the higher nobles almost as effectively as the rift between nobles and commoners.

“It is actually quite ingenious, if you ask me,” Drascon remarked. “I have had to travel with their type before, and it is always daunting and irritating. They have little respect for a soldier, even an officer. The longer you are around, the more they start to see you as their servant, and their increasing demands become ludicrous. I was actually surprised they had not already attempted to conscript our services out on the ship where they lack their usual cadre of retainers.”

Jimson eyed the man thoughtfully. It was the most he had ever heard the man say, and it was surprisingly insightful. “Yes, I heard Rezkin explaining to them the other day that we were there to function as guard and escort and not to wait on them. He went on about honoring our service and respecting our sacrifices, and the others actually listened…or at the very least, chose not to argue.”

Drascon’s eyes were calculating as he stated, “I heard him once refer to you as friend, sir.”

Captain Jimson nodded as he confirmed, “It is true. I consider him as such.”

“It was a notion I was previously unable to comprehend,” Drascon remarked. “If you do not mind me saying, sir, you seem to be the practical sort, completely incongruous with the…esteemed…Lord Rezkin,” he finished sarcastically. “Still, he claims an almost enmity with the general. How is it he was permitted to participate on this journey?”

Jimson considered the question carefully before answering. He thought about the general’s conflicting reactions toward his warrior friend. King Bordran’s faith in Rezkin had prompted the general to place his trust in the young man, whether the general wanted to admit it or not. The general’s antipathy seemed to stem from a completely different source.

“General Marcum’s dislike of Rezkin is of a more personal nature. Professionally, I believe he has the utmost respect for Rezkin and complete faith in his abilities. That approval simply does not extend to the matter of the general’s niece, who Rezkin has been pursuing, as you know. If not for Lady Frisha, I think the general and Rezkin would get along quite well.” And, it was true. Looking back at the reactions he had witnessed, the general’s hostility was all centered on Rezkin’s pursuit of Frisha. With Bordran’s approval in hand, General Marcum would not have otherwise had a care for the nature of Rezkin’s profession, except in that it was for the benefit of the kingdom.

“Hmm, I suppose that makes sense,” Drascon remarked.

Millins nodded sadly. His voice was gruff as he said, “Family does funny things to protect the people they love. It’s why I joined the army. My girl’s father wouldn’t approve of the marriage because he said I would never amount to anything. I joined the army to prove him wrong. The man was a veteran and was always going on about the honor of soldiers. But, while I was away at training, he married my girl off to the dock master, a man twice her age.” The soldier’s eyes found purchase on everything and nothing in the distance.

“The man beat her,” he continued quietly. “She died twelve years ago in an early childbirth.” He spat off to the side in disgust. “She was twenty-three. The healer said that with the beatings her husband dealt her, her body was just too weak to take the pregnancy. Even if I’d stayed a stable hand, I would’ve been better for her than that monster.”

Jimson and Drascon both nodded silently in acceptance of Millins’s story. Neither spoke out of respect for the man’s grief. As soldiers, anything more consoling would have been awkward and uncomfortable for them all.

Jimson’s eyes found Rezkin and Frisha in the distance. Frisha was smiling and talking as Rezkin nodded every so often. “In spite of what I know about Rezkin, or perhaps because of it, I believe he is what is best for that young woman. I truly hope the general will change his mind,” he stated softly.

Drascon smirked and chuckled, “And, with him out of the market, the rest of us might stand a chance at getting one of the ladies, eh, Captain?”

Perceptive, indeed. Captain Jimson just grinned.

Chapter 4

When the party was about half way back to Teurning, they came upon an odd sight in the road. An injured donkey lay in the path, and in the dirt beside it, sat a young man in dark grey mage robes. The donkey groaned and snorted out a heavy breath, and the young mage buried his head in his hands.

Rezkin held up a fist, and the others stopped a respectable distance from the scene. He encouraged Pride to continue forward slowly. Captain Jimson followed even though he knew Rezkin intended for him to stay back with the others. The mage glanced their direction but immediately dropped his head back down, unconcerned. Rezkin stopped beside the mage and peered down upon a light brown head of hair from high upon his perch. Finally, the young mage looked up at the warrior. His eyes were full of sorrow, and he wore his dejection like a cloak. As though pleading with them to understand, he said, “I have been trying for the last two hours to heal her. I just do not have enough talent in healing.”

The donkey groaned, again, and the young man winced, looking upon her in misery. He sniffed, “I-…I just cannot finish her, either. I have been sitting here trying to figure out what to do. I cannot leave her like this, and my packs are too heavy to carry.”

The mage was about Rezkin’s age, and he had short, unruly hair somewhere between dark blonde and light brown with hints of highlights bleached by the sun. His skin was lightly tanned, and he had a light scattering of freckles across his nose. His eyes were almost as light as Rezkin’s except they contained equal parts blue and green mixed together. With his thick lashes, full lips and high cheekbones, he was the kind of pretty, young man a mother would forever call her sweet baby boy, the girls would innocently flirt with and call friend, and the boys would beat up at every chance.

Seeing little threat in the young man, Rezkin dismounted. He nodded to Jimson to keep an eye on the mysterious mage while he squatted next to the injured animal. Her rear leg was twisted at an unnatural angle. Rezkin surveyed the ground. The beast had somehow found the deepest divot in the road and broken her leg just below the hock.

Rezkin looked at his group standing further back and sighed inwardly. Everyone’s attention was riveted on the mage and donkey. No one was watching the sides and rear. He would have to have a talk with the captain and his men. This was the perfect setup for an ambush had one been present. He waved his companions forward and called for them to dismount. The young mage barely took notice, wrapped in his misery as he was.

“Well, Mage…” the young warrior paused in question.

The sound of his voice broke the mage free from his thoughts. The young man looked up startled, as if just realizing everyone else’s presence. “Journeyman…Wesson,” he nearly stuttered.

“Journeyman Wesson,” Rezkin nodded in greeting. “I am Rezkin, and this is Captain Jimson of the King’s Army. The other introductions can be saved for later. It seems we have two options here, Journeyman Wesson. We can put the beast out of its misery, or our companion, here,” he waved toward Reaylin, “can attempt to heal it.”

The mage directed his attention at the pretty little warrior, and his eyes widened with surprise. Whether it was due to her strange choice of dress or attractiveness was unclear. “You are a healer?” he asked hopefully.

Reaylin scowled and replied a little too loudly. “I most certainly am not!” She directed her glare at Rezkin and said, “I am a warrior, not a healer!”

The young man looked at Rezkin questioningly. “Her powers just awoke a few days ago,” the young warrior explained. “She performed her first healing in a moment of distress and has since been in denial.”

“Why?” the young man asked in dismay. “It is a rare talent! As you can see from my own failure, not every mage possesses the ability. Likewise, those with strong healing affinity usually lack the ability to access the other powers, so they often go undiscovered.” Wesson pushed himself to his feet and took a step toward Reaylin with pleading eyes. “I could help you harness the energy and direct it for you. You would not have to do it all yourself.”

For a moment, Reaylin looked like she would cave under the young man’s piteous stare, but she simply stomped a foot in the dirt and said, “I won’t do it! I am a warrior.” Wesson’s face fell, and his eyes grew watery as he looked away.

Anxious about the number of people surrounding it and Reaylin’s sudden shout, the donkey lifted its head and began kicking its legs in an attempt to rise. When its broken leg shifted, the creature bellowed and shook its head, gnashing its teeth at the air. Wesson threw his arms around the injured animal’s neck and stroked its head with soft, comforting whispers. A crisp tingle filled the air that Rezkin recognized as a mage’s power in use. The beast groaned and laid its head back on the hard packed dirt of the road.

Rezkin pulled the dagger from his waist and said, “Well then, there is only one thing left to do. Journeyman Wesson, would you prefer to do this yourself or shall I?”

The young man did not look at Rezkin as he answered, “I-…I cannot.” His mouth clamped shut as he choked on his words.

Rezkin nodded once, even though no one was looking at him. Everyone’s eyes were staring pitifully at the young mage – except Reaylin’s. Hers were glued to the suffering donkey that flicked her ears and occasionally released a shuddering puff of air. Rezkin motioned to the packs and said, “Perhaps you all should gather these packs and head up the road a way. I will join you when I am finished.”

Lieutenant Drascon stepped forward and offered, “Lord Rezkin, I can perform the deed, if you prefer to join the others.”

Rezkin, in his fancy doublet and polished boots, met the soldier’s eyes. “Thank you for your offer, Lieutenant Drascon, but I am capable. I would prefer for you see to your duties and keep watch over the others,” he remarked, motioning mostly toward Frisha.

Drascon’s eyes found Captain Jimson who tilted his head in affirmation. The lieutenant nodded once and said, “Of course, my lord, as you wish.”

Frisha and Tam each collected a few packs and then followed the soldiers a few dozen paces down the road. Captain Jimson wandered in the opposite direction, and to Rezkin’s approval, surveyed the trees around them. Journeyman Wesson still had not moved. After a moment, he heaved a heavy sigh and hung his head as he shuffled after the others. Reaylin finally pulled her eyes off of the injured animal and met Rezkin’s crystal gaze. She looked like a cornered wild animal, her eyes imploring.

“Wait,” she snapped. Wesson stopped and turned to look at the young woman, his face full of hope and apprehension. “You-…you said I don’t have to do anything, right? I mean, you just use my…um, power…and do the healing yourself?”

Wesson spoke calmly, soothingly, as he said, “For the most part. You would have to call up your power, which I can help you do; and you would need to direct your will, but I can form the healing for you.”

“Direct my will?” Reaylin asked uneasily.

“It just means you would need to focus your intent. You have to want to heal the injury and focus your power on doing so.” At seeing Reaylin’s lack of confidence and discomfort, he attempted a different approach. “You carry a bow,” he nodded toward the bow strapped to Reaylin’s horse. “When you take aim at a target, you are directing your will at hitting the target. You are not focusing on hitting the trees or rocks around the target, but on the target, itself, and on what you wish to do.”

Reaylin, understanding more with the bow and arrow analogy, nodded her head.

“It is the same thing with the vimara, our mage power. You focus on what you want to hit. But…it is not just about hitting the right target. You need to tell the vimara what you want it to do once it hits the target. Like making a sandwich,” he said almost cheerfully. It was obvious he enjoyed talking about mage things.

“A sandwich?” Reaylin asked skeptically.

Wesson nodded enthusiastically, “Yes, like a sandwich. You take the ingredients and put them together, but you do not want to smash them into a pulp or slap them together haphazardly so they are falling out all over the place. You want to stack them gently and orderly so that they form a neat stack. Maybe you even want the ingredients stacked in a certain order. You have to decide and make your hands do it the way you want. It is the same with the vimara. For healing, you have to direct the vimara at the injury and then will it to heal. Is it safe to assume you do not have healing knowledge? You do not know how to repair a broken bone, do you?”

Reaylin huffed, “No, of course not. I told you, I am a warrior, not a healer.” Her eyes darted to Rezkin, and she flushed slightly. Rezkin had told her that he was both, but she was still not sure she believed him, despite the fact that he had treated her injuries on more than one occasion.

“Then, if you would do this for me, I will help you call on your vimara. You direct it at the injury and will it to heal, and I will guide the actual healing of the injury so it heals properly. I will be doing most of the difficult work, so you do not have to feel overwhelmed,” Wesson explained cautiously. Reaylin looked like she was about to dismiss the whole idea and bolt down the road with the rest of the party.

The young woman looked back at Rezkin. He was staring at her intently with those beautiful crystal blue eyes. His gaze was judgmental but not commanding. He was letting her make the decision, but she knew his opinion of her depended on her making the right decision. Her voice was barely above a whisper when she finally answered, “Okay.”

Wesson slapped his hands together, and he hopped a little from foot to foot excitedly. “This is wonderful. Please, let us get started. I do not want her to suffer anymore. I have had Shiela for years, you know. She belonged to my master, but I had to use her when we traveled. He let me take her when I finished my apprenticeship.”

A slow smile spread across Reaylin’s lips. “Your donkey’s name is Shiela?”

The young mage nodded enthusiastically. “Oh, yes. I named her, myself. A pretty name for a pretty lady.”

Reaylin snorted and then chuckled. Finally, her giggles turned to all out laughter as she bent over holding her middle, releasing much of her tension.

Wesson stared at the young woman as if she had lost her mind. He turned his confused eyes toward Rezkin, who actually felt a slight natural tug at the corners of his own lips. “I am sure you will find out soon enough,” was all that he said in response to the unasked question.

The mage waved Reaylin over and then took her hand as he guided her to the lame beast. “Okay, um…what was your name?” he said as he realized he did not know.

“Reaylin de Voss, but just call me Reaylin…none of that mistress stuff,” she informed.

“Okay, Reaylin. Place your hand here. You do not actually have to touch the injury, just some part of the body, but new healers usually find it easier to enforce their will the closer they are to the target. Some of the most powerful, experienced healers do not have to be touching the body at all, although they still must be within close proximity. Now, I am going to send a bit of my vimara into you, and then you will feel a tug. I will be trying to pull your vimara out of your well. You need to release it…let it go,” the journeyman explained.

Reaylin nodded anxiously. “O-okay.”

While the two were focused on their work, Rezkin scanned their surroundings. It was a pleasant, although entirely too warm, summer day. The sun had started its descent toward the horizon long ago, and the buzzing of cicadas had already begun. Every so often, he caught a yellow flash of light from the darker shadows where tiny insects called to their mates. The air turned crisp and a slight vibration invaded his flesh as the two mages began pulling on their power. The hum of mage power had always been enticing to Rezkin, as though somehow it was calling to him, but he had never had any power of his own. As far as he knew, it was simply a general side effect of the mage power.

Reaylin closed her eyes and was startled when the warm tingling entered her. It seemed to seep into her skin and then fill her throughout. As it worked its way into her chest, she felt an answering tingle from within. Her inner tingle started to squirm like a restless child trying to escape its mother.

“Let it go,” Wesson whispered.

Reaylin did not want to let it go. It was frightening, and somehow she felt that if she let it go now, she would lose part of herself. She wanted to hold onto it with all her strength and keep it inside. A warm hand covered her own.

“Reaylin, you must let it go. Do not be afraid,” a soft male voice said beside her ear.

“I’m not afraid,” she snapped at the mage and huffed inwardly. She could not let a silly tingle get the best of her. She was a warrior, and if she backed out now, everyone would think she was scared and weak. With a silent growl, she released her hold on the energy inside her. In the next moment, her body and mind were flooded with sensations. It felt like the warm summer sun and cool fresh water and the sweet scent of nectar on the wind. It was soft cotton and burning fire and sticky, sugary syrup. Her eyes popped open as she stared at Wesson in awe.

The young mage smiled indulgently and nodded as he continued, “Now, feel the vimara, gather it up, and push it toward the broken leg. I will help guide you, but you need to will it to be so.”

Reaylin looked at the pitiful creature and the stomach-churning, awkward bend of the leg. Her eyes stared at nothing as she focused on her inner desire to help the animal, to take away its pain and fix its problems to make it better. A slight movement stirred within her core, and she could feel some of the liquid sensation flow out of her. The power trickled and flowed in every direction like water splashing across the floor.

“Good. You have it moving,” the soft voice whispered. “Now, push it toward the wound. It is easier if you look at it.”

She really did not want to look at the twisted leg, but she was a warrior and she could not afford to be squeamish about such things. Her eyes flicked to the broken leg and then, wanting to be done with this, she simply grappled a bunch of the energy and threw it at the break. The leg jerked, and the donkey moaned.

“Okay, that is not going to work,” Wesson said gently. “You have to will it to heal. Want it, Reaylin. Help her. You can do it.”

Reaylin grasped the energy again. Of course, she could do it. Did he think she couldn’t do it? If he thought she couldn’t handle a simple broken leg, then this pretty boy had something else coming. I bet he’s never even held a sword, she thought. This time, when she pushed the vimara toward the injury, she held firmly in her mind the belief that she was going to heal the dumb animal. What was it thinking, anyway? Stepping in a hole like that.

Wesson smiled. They were finally getting somewhere. “You keep doing that, and I will do the rest.” He used the connection he had already formed with the young woman to guide her vimara into and around the wound. The young journeyman held little talent in healing, generally only good for healing small cuts and burns or very minor sickness such as nausea, or maybe a cold if he was really lucky. That did not stop his former master from forcing him to learn about anatomy and other mundane healing techniques, though.

The young mage deadened the feeling in the leg and then directed the bone back into place with a sickening snap. The energy wavered for a moment, and he noticed that Reaylin appeared a bit pallid. He looked at her questioningly, and she scowled and nodded for him to continue. Directing his mind back into the injury, Wesson maneuvered a few shards of bone back into place and simply dissolved a few of the smaller ones. The bones fused and grew to fill in the gaps. The journeyman then sealed several smaller tears in the soft tissue around the wound and checked for other damage. He eased a few strained ligaments and repaired a torn tendon. When he was satisfied, he allowed the feeling back into the limb and released the energy.

Looking back at the young woman who was deeply concentrating, he said, “Thank you. You may withdraw the energy, now. The healing is complete.”

Reaylin looked at the young mage uncertainly. She was not sure how to release the power, and to her surprise, she was not sure she wanted to. It felt really good.

Wesson put a hand on the young woman’s shoulder and said, “It is not difficult to withdraw your vimara. You opened the gate to let it out. Now, just close the gate. And believe me, you really need to. You cannot let it stay open or you will become dependent on it. Eventually, you will burn out. It takes a toll on your body to maintain that much energy. If you let it go too long, you will be lucky if you pass out.”

“And, if I don’t pass out?” she asked curiously.

“You will die,” he stated firmly.

With the dire warning, Reaylin suddenly froze up, and all of the energy was sucked back to whence it came. “You mean I could die just from using this vimara?” she shouted.

Wesson furrowed his brow at the young woman’s sudden change of attitude. He shifted uncomfortably. “Only if you over use it. Most healers can heal quite a bit before becoming overextended. Plus, you can always tell when you are nearing your limit. You would feel terrible, hungry, and drained. Using your vimara can be exhausting. I mean, really, it would be the same as if you tried to practice with your sword for two days straight,” he remarked as he waved toward the sword strapped at her hip.

Reaylin directed accusing eyes at Rezkin. The young warrior nodded knowingly. He had practiced his sword for two days straight, and it was beyond exhausting. By the end, he thought perhaps he had died and his spirit just kept fighting, not realizing he was dead. The masters taught that battles did not end just because you grew tired. You had to keep fighting until you won or died. He learned to force his body to unnatural limits. He could never remember the ends of those practices. Somehow, he always awoke healed and refreshed. Rezkin had just assumed the healers had done their work.

“Did you know I could die from using this healing power?” Reaylin asked scathingly.

Rezkin cocked his head and answered, “I do not see how that is significant.”

Reaylin growled, “Death, Rezkin, is significant!”

“You are a warrior, Reaylin. Warriors die. How many warrior elders do you know?” he asked with disbelief.

Reaylin huffed and tossed her long, blonde ponytail over her shoulder. “That’s different. It’s one thing to die in battle. It’s another to die while healing.”

“Are you likely to drop dead during archery practice?” Rezkin asked with concealed frustration.

“No, of course not,” she spat.

“Just as you are not likely to die from healing a donkey,” Rezkin replied as he walked over to the animal that was still lying sedately on the ground. He gathered the reins and looked pointedly at the mage. Wesson shook himself when he realized he was still maintaining the spell holding the animal calm and released it. As soon as the tingling magic snapped out of existence, Rezkin tugged on the bridle, and the animal began struggling to its feet. Wesson gave Rezkin a strange look but was quickly distracted by a head butt from the donkey. He smiled and scratched at her chin.

Wesson turned to Reaylin and bowed low. “Thank you, Reaylin. I am in your debt.”

“I don’t want your debt,” the young woman snapped. “Give it to Rezkin. He’s the only reason I did it, anyway.” Her face flushed as she realized what she said. She grabbed her horse’s reins and stalked off to join the others.

Captain Jimson marched over and watched the young woman longingly as she strode away. Wesson muttered soothingly to the donkey as he fed her water from his own waterskin.

“I do not envy you, Jimson,” Rezkin’s deep voice remarked. The captain looked at him questioningly. “One day, you are going to capture that,” he said, nodding toward Reaylin’s retreating form, “and then you will never be rid of her.”

Jimson grinned broadly and replied, “I hope so.”

Wesson happily pulled the now-healed donkey along as they joined the others. Everyone was smiling at the young man with his boyish glee – except Reaylin who was doing her best to ignore everyone. Tam helped Wesson strap his belongings onto the donkey’s back while Frisha chatted excitedly with Jimson about the healing.

Lieutenant Drascon approached Rezkin cautiously and quietly inquired, “How did you get her to change her mind, my lord?”

Rezkin cocked his head. “I did not. I only provided the right conditions for her to come to the decision on her own.”

“That is why you offered to be the one to put the beast down,” Drascon stated more than asked. “You were stalling, hoping the guilt would convince her to try. What if she had refused?”

“I have no compunctions over killing a wounded creature, except that it would have been a waste of a decent pack animal since we had a healer with us. It was a good opportunity for Reaylin to see what her power can do without the intimidation of having to use it on a human being. If she had refused, I would have killed the beast, and we would be gone by now,” Rezkin replied.

Captain Jimson approached and inquired about the plans to return to town. Wesson was on foot while the rest of the party was mounted. Should they stay with the journeyman or simply leave him behind and go their way?

Rezkin could not see the sun beyond the trees, but based on the waning light, he figured it was about an hour before sunset. The ride to town would only take half that. He turned to the group and remarked, “It is getting close to dark, and it would be best if Journeyman Wesson rode with us back to Teurning. Since he does not have a mount, I was hoping the ladies would not mind doubling up.” Ideally, the women would ride together, since their combined weight would not be a burden to the animal; but knowing these particular women, that was not going to happen.

“It is really not necessary,” Wesson started to protest, but one look from Rezkin silenced the mage.

Frisha flushed and said, “I would be happy to ride with you, Rezkin. That is, if Pride won’t mind.”

Rezkin cocked his head in thought. He was less concerned about whether or not Pride would behave than he was about having a person so close at his back for an extended period of time. Deciding that Frisha was not really a threat, he replied, “I have him under control. That should be fine.”

Frisha handed her reins to Wesson and walked over to Rezkin almost timidly. It was not that he suddenly intimidated her. She was just not used to being so close to him. Rezkin mounted first and then removed a foot from his stirrup for the woman to use. He held out his hand to assist the young lady. Pride was a massive beast, and the stirrup was quite high; but Rezkin’s legs were long, so she managed to reach. Frisha swung up behind Rezkin, and Pride stomped and shifted. The sudden movement startled Frisha, and she pressed herself against Rezkin’s back with her arms clasped about his waist. Rezkin stiffened under the closeness and then forced himself to relax. Frisha started to remove her hands, but he held them in place. As long as her hands were clasped at his front, she could not access any weapons, and he felt more secure that she could not implement a surprise attack.

Frisha smiled to herself, and her heart skipped a beat when Rezkin held her hands around him. She was embarrassed when first she embraced him, but now she was elated that her handsome warrior wanted her so close. So far, Rezkin had been the perfect gentleman. He had taken no liberties and treated her as a respectable lady, but Frisha could not help but be a little disappointed with the constant distance between them. The most contact he had made with her was when he was making a point of claiming her in front of the other nobles. Those actions alone melted her heart, even though she knew they were out of character for the real Rezkin. She really wanted Rezkin to kiss her. Well, she really wanted him to do a lot more, but the thought of it made her blush furiously.

Wesson did not have to adjust the stirrups much, since at five feet and nine inches he was only slightly taller than Frisha. He had not grown much in the past couple of years, but he still held out hope that he might gain a few more inches. Wesson was not particularly short, about average height, actually, but the women always seemed to like tall men. The mage had already noticed how besotted both women in the group were with the abnormally tall Lord Rezkin.

Lord Rezkin was tall and broad and strong, and by the evening his face had more thick, dark stubble than Wesson could probably hope to grow in his lifetime. Even though the man had been pleasant and professional, he wore a darkness about him that was almost unnerving. It was not so much in his attitude or personality but in the way he moved, and sometimes he had the strangest look in his eyes. Almost in complete contradiction to Wesson’s observations, though, he found himself instinctually drawn to the stranger.

Rezkin instructed Captain Jimson to take the lead while the other soldiers brought up the rear. Drascon noted exactly who was giving the orders. His captain always deferred to the strange lord with the dual personalities. Rezkin and Frisha rode beside Wesson, who seemed to have a decent amount of experience with riding horses.

Rezkin donned a pleasant smile and asked, “So, Journeyman Wesson, what brings you out here to the middle of the forest? It looks as though you have been on a long journey and on foot, no less.”

Wesson’s head dipped forward, and he replied, “Yes, it is true. I have been out here for quite some time. I had thought to improve my skills so that I could become a life mage.”

“It sounds like it has not worked out the way you hoped,” Rezkin remarked casually.

“No, it has not,” Wesson replied dejectedly. “I knew from the beginning that most life mages have much more innate healing talent than I, but I had hoped that I could still develop the other talents.” He sighed heavily. “I just do not have the aptitude for working with plants and animals, though. When I try to push it, it either just does not work or I end up…well, it does not go well.”

“I see. Where do your natural talents lie?” Rezkin asked.

Wesson screwed his face up in disgust. “I have a natural affinity for destructive magic,” he replied.

Rezkin’s brow rose, and he remarked, “Destructive magic is quite useful, and I know the battle mage academy would be chomping at the bit to get someone with a natural affinity. Most battle mages do not possess the natural affinity. They have to work hard to develop the skills, and it is more draining. Your talents would not go unappreciated.”

The journeyman shook his head in denial and replied, “I know, but I do not want to be a battle mage. I have no desire to kill and destroy. I could not even put down Shiela when she was injured. I am useless. I cannot heal, and I will not destroy.”

“Shiela?” Frisha interrupted in confusion.

“His donkey,” Rezkin answered flatly.

“Really?” she asked and then burst out laughing. Rezkin decided he liked the feel of Frisha’s warm body and soft breasts pressed against his back.

“So, we have a healer who wants to be a warrior and a battle mage who wants to be a healer. It seems to me that some people simply need to accept who they are and embrace their strengths,” Rezkin remarked offhandedly.

Wesson looked away for a moment and then noted, “You have quite a bit of knowledge about mages, Lord Rezkin.”

Rezkin nodded. “Please, it is just Rezkin. And, yes. I am educated in the subject, although I have no natural talent of my own.”

The young mage looked at him sideways and then started to speak, but Rezkin continued. “What about enchantments or alchemy? Perhaps you could pursue a more passive career.”

“Yes, I am quite good at enchantments and alchemy, but only with certain spells,” Wesson confirmed.

“Oh, and what spells are those?” Rezkin inquired, already having an idea.

“The kind that explode,” Wesson replied with a heavy sigh.

“So, all of your magic ends up being destructive?” asked Frisha with concern and empathy.

“No, not all of it. I can do all of the basic apprentice spells and a few more advanced, but nothing that would entice a patron to hire me,” Wesson replied.

“If you are not employed, then what are you doing now?” Frisha inquired.

“I am just wandering. I go from town to town and occasionally someone needs something simple done. I might fix a forge or deepen a well. Actually, my destructive magic is pretty good for those kinds of things. Breaking up rocks and removing earth is a destructive process, and forges naturally require the destructive element of fire. My enchantments are quite useful for producing heat and strength, as well. But, the enchantments last a long time, and there are only so many forges to repair or wells to dig,” the young man explained.

For the rest of the ride back to town, Frisha asked most of the questions, and Wesson told of the many less-than-exciting projects he had worked on over the last several months. In one small village, the people had not even asked for his magical services. None of the villagers were literate, and they simply wanted him to use his skills as a scribe to write wills, contracts, notes of sale, and birth and death certificates for the previous three years. Apparently, it was a very remote village that did not get visitors often. The mage did note that he became uncomfortable when he realized that many of the parents on those birth certificates were of closer blood relation than was strictly appropriate.

When they finally arrived at the town of Teurning, Rezkin insisted the young mage join them for dinner. With additional prodding from Frisha and Tam, Wesson gave in and agreed. The group returned their rented horses and found themselves back at the inn just as the dinner crowd was starting to trickle into the common room. Savory roasted venison was accompanied by seasoned potatoes and buttered carrots. The hearty meal was more than satisfying. When they were finished eating, Wesson stood to take his leave and say farewell.

“I thank you all for your company. Lord Rezkin, I owe you and Reaylin a debt, and I truly hope to repay it someday. If there is ever anything I can do for you, please do not hesitate to call on me…” he paused and then continued, “…wherever I may be.” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully and said, “Perhaps I can give you the name of my former master, and you can leave a message with him. I will make it a point to check in with him from time to time.”

Rezkin replied, “Actually, Journeyman Wesson, I was hoping you would stay the night. I may have a task for you.”

“Ah, well, you see, I was going to camp outside of town. I do not exactly have the funds for an establishment such as this at the moment,” Wesson replied with embarrassment.

Frisha looked around. It was just an average inn, nothing special. The other lords and Shiela had all opted to stay at a separate establishment that was more to their tastes. The young lords had implored Rezkin to stay with them, but he noted that space was limited, and he preferred to stay near the rest of the group.

Before Frisha could say anything, Rezkin replied. “As I said, Journeyman, I might have some work for you. I will cover the fee for room and board and any other necessities as part of your payment,” the young warrior offered.

Wesson was surprised. “But, I do not even know what the job is or whether I am capable of performing it. What if I am unable to complete the task? I would not be able to pay you back.”

“Oh, I am quite certain you will suffice,” Rezkin replied. “If it makes you feel better, though, I will share my room with you. It is a miniscule expense for an extra bed, and I imagine you would not mind a warm bed and hot bath after so many weeks of travel. The inn has laundry service as well as a full breakfast.”

With every word that Rezkin spoke, Wesson’s resistance was crumbling. To be honest, he was already convinced at the mention of a potential job. Just as Wesson started to speak, his voice was drowned in a chorus of shouts and banging from outside. A couple of guests peered out the door to investigate, only to go bursting outside as soon as their eyes landed on whatever was causing the raucous. Several more of the inn’s patrons scrambled to the entry in curiosity, while Rezkin’s companions attempted to peer through the windows that were a little too far away. Captain Jimson got up to investigate, while Rezkin listened intently to the sounds outside.

Jimson glanced back and ordered, “Sergeant Millins, stay with our charges and keep them inside. It might be best if they went to their rooms. Drascon, you are with me. Rezkin?”

Rezkin was already on his feet, though. As he passed Frisha, he looked pointedly into her eyes and said, “Stay inside.” It was a blatant command, and it was obvious he meant it to be followed. Frisha nodded furiously and then sat back down beside Tam. Rezkin met Tam’s questioning eyes and then glanced at Frisha and back. Tam nodded in understanding. Reaylin started to her feet, but Rezkin caught her in an icy stare. Just as she was about to protest, the warrior, with his dark, icy gaze, clenched his jaw and shook his head once. Reaylin paused and then slowly lowered herself back into her chair. “Come with me, if you would please, Journeyman Wesson.”

Satisfied that his friends would stay put, Rezkin marched out the door behind Captain Jimson and Lieutenant Drascon followed by Wesson. The street that was quiet and peaceful only moments ago was now a riot of angry townsfolk. Several were waving swords or makeshift weapons in the air, and torchbearers fluttered their flaming flares as they called for the crowd to follow. The irate mob flowed like a tidal wave toward the center of town. Rezkin, Jimson, Drascon and Wesson attempted to get ahead of the wave by slipping along its edges. When the forward progress of the crowd finally stalled, Rezkin simply plowed his way through. One dark look quelled any protests, and people backed off as soon as they saw the officers in their military uniforms. Wesson, however, was nearly lost in the crowd on a few occasions.

Rezkin, the mage, and the two soldiers finally made it to the center of the turmoil where several heavy city guardsmen maintained a sizeable open space. In the center was a well-dressed rail of a man with long, black hair flowing to his waist and a perpetual scowl that was etched into his pale, craggy skin. He wore gold rings on several of his skeletal fingers, a white ruffled shirt, black breeches, and a black and burgundy velvet robe that fell nearly to his feet. The man’s robes identified him as the magistrate.

Kneeling on the ground beside the magistrate was a middle-aged man with greying brown hair and an unkempt grey-brown beard. His clothes were almost as ragged and dirty as the man. He sported a number of cuts and bruises including a split lip, broken nose, and swollen eye. On one arm, the bottom arc of a tattoo peaked out from the man’s torn sleeve. He also had a noose hanging around his neck with the loose end strung out along the ground.

Behind the magistrate lay the prostrate form of a dead man. The corpse did not appear to have any injuries except a single knife, probably a boot knife, sticking from his chest. The dead man was young, perhaps in his mid-twenties and dressed in a fine silk shirt and wool pants. His boots were well made and polished to a shine.

Rezkin surveyed the scene with a critical eye. Whatever happened had not happened here. The body had been moved and positioned, and it looked like the injured man had been dragged by his neck. Several guards stood close by, but the injured man appeared defeated. Nobody seemed interested in getting closer to the magistrate. That is, until the rather boisterous rotund fellow appeared. He was dressed in a gaudy suit with a red and gold jacket held together by a number of gold chains. The man’s black silk undershirt looked as though it might burst open to expose his ample belly at any moment. His bald pate was crossed by a few greasy hairs that were combed over in an attempt to cover the shiny globe, and his bulbous nose and cheeks were rosy, probably from too much drink.

“Kill him!” the fat fellow shouted. “What are you waiting for? He killed my son! He is a murderer!”

“Murderer!” the crowd chanted.

The magistrate stood like a skeletal sentinel, his hands clutched behind him as he surveyed the crowd with black eyes.

“Well? What are you waiting for, Jiruthis?” the angry father shouted.

The magistrate turned his beady, black eyes on the irate man and said, “We have not yet had the trial, Mayor Quey.”

“Trial? He killed him! He is guilty,” Mayor Quey barked.

“We will see,” stated the magistrate as his eyes roved over the mob.

The magistrate nodded to one of the guardsmen who took a step forward and blew into a bone horn. The rich note sounded through the square, and the crowd grew quiet.

“We call to order this court in the city of Teurning, to determine the guilt or innocence of the defendant, Kai Colguerun, in the murder of Preson Quey. Let all who stand here before us bear witness to the proceedings,” the magistrate intoned. “Let us begin.”

The magistrate turned to the injured man and asked, “Did you, Kai Colguerun, kill Preson Quey?”

The injured man said nothing as he swayed, barely able to stay upright. The magistrate nodded to the guard standing over Kai, and the guard stepped forward and struck the defendant in the face. Kai fell over moaning, but the guard kicked him in the gut yelling at him to get back up. As Kai struggled to comply, the magistrate repeated his question.

Kai coughed up a wad of blood and rasped, “I did, but…”

The magistrate did not wait to hear what else Kai might have said. He announced, “Kai Colguerun pleads guilty to the murder of Preson Quey. Kai Colguerun, you are hereby sentenced to death by hanging.”

Rezkin had heard enough. He took several strides forward, and the guards did not try to stop him. He stopped in front of the injured Kai and faced the magistrate with hard eyes. “Magistrate Jiruthis, is this how you conduct your court?” He waved a hand at the gathered crowd. “Out here, in the city square, after dark, in the presence of an angry mob?”

“I am the magistrate of this town, and I may choose to hold court however and whenever I please,” the magistrate answered. “And, who are you to be questioning me?”

Rezkin turned and offered a courtly bow, not to the magistrate, but to the crowd. “I am Rezkin, and you will answer any and all of my questions.” At that moment, Captain Jimson and Lieutenant Drascon took up positions behind Rezkin, as though providing escort and protection.

The magistrate’s eyes caught on the soldiers and then returned to Rezkin with resentment. “What is your business here, Lord Rezkin?”

“My business is this court,” Rezkin replied as his nerves danced with the energy necessary for battle. “In your opening remarks, you said we were here to determine the defendant’s guilt or innocence. Do you treat all of your prisoners like this? Do you have them beaten and dragged through the streets by a noose?”

“The man has been found guilty. He is a drunkard and degenerate. Witnesses saw him stab Preson Quey, and he has admitted to killing the man just now,” the magistrate stated.

“Oh, there were witnesses? I do not recall any of them being called during the trial,” Rezkin remarked.

“Of course, there were witnesses. We had no reason to call on them since the man admitted to the murder,” the magistrate scoffed.

“I did not hear him plead guilty to murder,” Rezkin countered.

Jiruthis shook his head in frustration and replied, “You were standing right there! He said he killed the man.”

“Yes, I heard that, but I did not hear him state that he murdered the man,” Rezkin argued.

Mayor Quey marched up but stopped several paces short of Rezkin. His face was red, and his jowls wobbled as he shook an angry fist. “You heard him say he killed my boy! He is a murderer! It is as simple as that!”

“Is it? Maybe he is a murderer, and maybe he is not. We cannot really say since no evidence was presented to prove that the cause of death was, in fact, murder,” Rezkin explained.

“There is your evidence!” the mayor shouted. “MY boy has a knife sticking out of his heart! That is murder!”

Rezkin cocked his head. “I am not so certain. Why does he have a knife sticking out of his heart?” he inquired.

“Because that man put it there!” shouted Mayor Quey.

“Yes, I believe that. But, why did he stab your son?” Rezkin asked.

Mayor Quey’s face was nearly purple with rage as he argued, “What does it matter? He killed him!”

Rezkin’s icy blue eyes darkened, and his hand hovered over his hilt. He said, “I have killed many people, Mayor Quey. Do you accuse me of murder, as well?”

Mayor Quey’s bloodshot eyes nearly burst from his skull as he took a step back and clamped his mouth shut. “Th-that is different,” he replied in a much lower voice. “This is not some battle or noble duel. This was that man killing my son in an alley by the tavern.”

Rezkin shrugged and said, “I cannot say if it is any different, since this court failed to describe the incident or present any evidence. Why was your son in an alley by a tavern? Why was this man with him? Who else was there? Where are these witnesses who saw the stabbing? How did the knife get from this man’s boot into your son’s chest, and how many of Master Kai’s injuries were acquired prior to the killing?”

Magistrate Jiruthis’s eyes narrowed, “He was injured during the fight with the deceased.”

“And, yet, the deceased has not a mark on him aside from the stab wound. I assure you, I have many more questions, none of which were answered in the proceedings of this court. I am not saying this man is innocent. I am only saying that this court has failed to convict him of murder. This man’s story is of the last moments of your son’s life, Mayor Quey. Do you not think it deserves to be heard?”

“You do not even know this man. Why do you stand for him now?” Mayor Quey asked heatedly.

“You are correct, Mayor Quey. I do not know this man. In fact, I have never seen him before, but I do know that had he wanted to, he could have killed your son before receiving a single scratch. Why would he allow himself to be beaten to a pulp before he killed his opponent?”

Mayor Quey’s eyes darted to the magistrate who was scowling at Rezkin with fire in his eyes. Magistrate Jiruthis stated, “I have already declared the verdict in this case and sentenced the prisoner to death.”

“On behalf of this man, Kai Colguerun, I issue an appeal of your verdict based on insufficient evidence.”

“Your appeal is denied,” Jiruthis replied.

Captain Jimson stepped forward and stated with authority, “I am Captain Jimson of the King’s Army on personal assignment from General Marcum. You will recognize this man’s authority, which is greater than your own.”

“With all due respect, Captain, this is a civil matter outside your jurisdiction. I do not know this man, nor do I recognize his so-called authority over my court,” the magistrate asserted.

Rezkin took a threatening step forward, “Then, I relieve you of your duties, Jiruthis. A new magistrate will be selected to preside over this town – one that knows how to conduct a proper trial.”

“You have no right!” Magistrate Jiruthis bellowed.

Faster than Jimson could blink, Rezkin had drawn Kingslayer and held it at the magistrate’s throat. The city guards had not even registered the movement before several of the townsfolk gasped in recognition of the blade. The night was dark, but the blue swirls of the Sheyalin blade danced in the firelight. Drascon’s eyes widened in surprise, but Wesson was unfazed. The magistrate’s eyes followed the silver and blue blade down its length and finally flicked up to meet Rezkin’s icy stare.

The warrior lord’s deep, forceful voice rumbled, “I have every right.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Rezkin noticed a couple of men surrounded by guards pushing their way through the crowd.

“Make way!” a guard shouted. “Make way for the baron!

Rezkin sheathed his sword and took a step back as he turned to greet the baron and his son.

Drom Nasque, Baron of Fendendril, was an unassuming man of average height and medium brown hair and eyes. He was of healthy weight but not extremely fit, and he wore well-made tailored clothes that would befit any other merchant or minor noble. The baron’s son, Waylen, was slightly taller than his father at about seventeen years of age. He had the same medium brown hair as the baron, but his eyes were closer to amber. He wore a simple, well-made tunic and breeches with light embroidery along the edges. His only adornment was the shortsword at his hip, which had a silver wire grip. The black scabbard had a few silver adornments, as well.

“What is going on here?” the baron demanded upon arriving at the scene. The baron’s eyes found Captain Jimson, and noting his uniform, demanded, “Captain, explain.”

Jimson sought Rezkin’s approval, and the young warrior simply shrugged and waved him forward. The baron noted the captain’s deference toward the abnormally tall young man. When the baron’s eyes first fell on the stranger, he started in recognition, but he immediately shook himself as he dismissed the thought.

“Lord Nasque, I am Captain Jimson of the King’s Army, assigned by General Marcum to escort a certain party to Skutton,” Jimson stated.

“Oh, yes, Captain. It is good to meet you. I received word that you would be providing escort,” the baron remarked. Jimson eyed Rezkin sideways. He had not even known the baron was joining the voyage until a few days ago; yet, somehow, the baron already knew the captain was providing escort. He was sure Rezkin had something to do with it.

“Then, allow me to introduce Lord Rezkin, who is also accompanying our voyage,” Jimson said.

Rezkin gave a slight bow in greeting and remarked, “It is a pleasure to meet you, Lord Nasque, and you as well, Lord Waylen.” Waylen smiled and bowed but did not speak.

“So, what is happening here that you needed to get involved?” the baron asked.

“I am afraid I have had to relieve the magistrate of his post,” Rezkin supplied.

Lord Nasque’s brows rose as he responded, “Is that so? It must be serious, indeed.” The magistrate scowled fiercely at Rezkin, but the tight swallow and half step back demonstrated his fear.

Rezkin nodded once, “Yes. He is incapable of conducting a proper trial. When I confronted him, he became hostile and belligerent. I issued an appeal for a proper retrial of the accused, and the magistrate dismissed it outright. After that, he failed to submit to both the captain’s authority and my own and failed to treat either of us with our due respect. Since Magistrate Jiruthis is incapable of performing his duties and does not recognize proper authority, I relieved him of his duties.”

Lord Nasque nodded as Rezkin spoke. At the end of Rezkin’s explanation, he replied, “Yes, I can see the problem. I do not doubt you, Lord Rezkin, but…I am afraid that I am not familiar with your House…,” he said as he let the statement linger, waiting for the offer of information. The magistrate raised his chin, regaining a bit of confidence. The baron noticed, and, having failed to acquire the information he sought, continued, “Make no mistake, I support your decision in this and will defer to your judgment regardless of your authority. Still, I must ask, to whom do you belong?”

Captain Jimson stepped forward once again. “Baron Fendendril, if I may? This is quite the gathering,” he said as he waved at the frustrated crowd, which probably included most of the town’s inhabitants by now. “It is late and we all have other duties. On my word as an officer of the army, I assure you that Lord Rezkin has the authority he has claimed. Might we finish here quickly and discuss this at a later time?”

Lord Nasque took in the spectacle around him. The irate mob had not yet gotten its promised execution, and the magistrate and mayor looked ready to mutiny. The guards were most concerned with keeping the crowd from overwhelming them but continuously cast disgruntled and suspicious glances their way.

“Yes, I see your point, Captain. Perhaps that is for the best. We can send this man to the cells, and he can receive a proper trial in a few days when the new magistrate assumes his duties,” the baron said.

“Lord Nasque,” Rezkin interrupted, “the defendant has received many of his injuries at the hands of the guardsmen since the incident that led to Preson Quey’s death. The man may still be innocent, and I will not have him suffer further mistreatment.”

“Are you so certain of his innocence?” the baron asked.

“No, I am not,” Rezkin replied. “In fact, I have little knowledge of the events of this night, despite having witnessed the trial. But, if this town treats one accused in such a way, then others will follow, and they will not all be guilty.”

“So, it is not the man you are defending, but the method of justice?” the baron asked curiously.

An unexpected voice interrupted as its owner moved closer to the gathered officiates. “Lord Rezkin holds a strong belief that nobles should be held to a higher standard,” Tieran remarked. Looking over the magistrate, mayor, and city guards, he continued, “It is a sentiment that I believe he extends to any man of power and standing.” Tieran came to stand next to Rezkin, and the baron eyed him questioningly. Malcius and Palis stood back a few paces.

“And, you are?” the baron asked.

“Ah, I see you have not been to court in some time, Baron Fendendril. Allow me to introduce myself,” he said with a sweeping bow. “I am Tieran Nirius, Heir of House Nirius, Duke of Wellinven. Behind me are Lord Malcius, Heir of House Jebai, and his brother, Lord Palis.” Ferrel, Guent, and Jeyet, three of the House Jebai guardsmen stood further back with their hands pensively gripping their hilts.

“I apologize, Lord Tieran. I did not recognize you. You have grown since last I saw you,” the baron replied.

“Of course, Baron.” Tieran turned his attention momentarily to Rezkin and grinned as he said, “Rez, when first I saw the angry mob, I should have known you would be involved.”

Rezkin shrugged and replied, “Someone had to. Guilty or not, this man would be dead right now if I had not stepped in, and the mystery of the death of the mayor’s son would never be solved.”

“Well, we all love a good mystery, do we not?” Tieran asked with an enthusiasm that did not match the tense mood of the event.

“What do you propose, Lord Rezkin?” the baron asked. Now that the duke’s son had confirmed Rezkin’s identity, the baron felt more at ease.

“I will take the man into custody, myself. I have some questions for him, but I doubt he can answer them properly in his current condition. I have both a mage and a healer at my disposal,” Rezkin added for effect.

Tieran whipped his head around. “Since when do you have a mage?”

“Since today,” Rezkin replied indicating Wesson who stood wide-eyed off to the side.

“What kind of mage?” Tieran asked excitedly.

Before Wesson could respond, Rezkin stated, “He is a battle mage.”

Tieran released a low whistle. With utter disbelief he asked, “How ever did you manage to get your own battle mage? I could not even get a battle mage if a horde of drauglics invaded the duchy.”

“I-I am a journeyman,” Wesson interjected, not wanting the duke’s heir to get the wrong idea.

“Still, a battle mage is a battle mage. I am impressed, Rezkin. I did not know you had that kind of clout, although I must wonder just why, exactly, you think you need a battle mage.”

Rezkin shrugged, “It never hurts to have one.” Tieran’s mouth hung open.

The baron started. “It never hurts…?” He turned his head and grumbled under his breath, “Young lords running around with their own battle mages. What is this kingdom coming to?” Then louder, he said, “Lord Rezkin, do you really want to deal with this,” he waved a hand at the filthy, raggedy beaten man, “yourself?”

“Yes, Lord Nasque, I do,” Rezkin replied firmly.

“Now, wait just a minute!” Mayor Quey shouted, as he finally lost his composure. “What about my son? Where is the justice?”

Rezkin rested his icy stare on the portly mayor and said, “Justice is rarely carried out by an angry mob, Mayor Quey. I will discover the truth behind your son’s death, and the man, if found guilty, will be punished accordingly.”

“Lord Rezkin, I might remind you that the ship is scheduled to leave tomorrow morning,” Lord Nasque remarked.

“Have no concern, Lord Nasque. By tomorrow morning, I will have the information I require and will submit my report to you before breakfast. If you do not mind, you can rule on the matter and then we can be on our way,” Rezkin proposed.

“Hmm, well, if you have everything in order, then I suppose we can be done with this in a timely fashion. Still, it leaves me little time to find a suitable replacement for the magistrate. I think it may be best to send for someone from the outside,” he mumbled almost to himself.

“If that is all, Baron, I would like to take the prisoner and return to my lodgings,” Rezkin stated.

“Of course, of course. I will have to do something about this crowd,” the Baron stated.

Rezkin turned to the crowd and announced, “There will be no execution tonight. This trial was a farce. The baron will personally rule on this matter on the morrow. Anyone who has a problem with that can speak to me,” he said as he gripped his hilt. The whispered rumors of the Sheyalin blades had already spread, and people began backing away. “Disperse!” he shouted, and they did.

Disappointed townsfolk began shuffling away, and Rezkin motioned for the captain and lieutenant to collect the prisoner. Wesson stayed close as they moved toward the crowd. People scattered like rats as Rezkin strode forward, and Tieran and the Jebais trailed in his wake. Once they were out of the crowd, Tieran and Malcius caught up to Rezkin. Palis hung back with Wesson but was still close enough to hear.

“That was impressive, Rez. You know how to handle a crowd,” Tieran remarked.

“Once they realized there would be no blood drawn, they were willing enough to leave,” Rezkin remarked. “A mob does not care for trials and justice. They only wanted to see him swing.”

“What are you going to do with him,” Malcius inquired as he nodded back in the direction of the prisoner. The two soldiers had the man draped over their shoulders, since he seemed unable to hold his own weight. The three Jebai House Guards brought up the rear.

“I am going to talk to him,” Rezkin answered.

“And then?” Malcius asked.

“And then, we will find out if he is guilty of murder,” Rezkin replied.

“I heard he admitted to killing the man, but you think it might not have been murder? Then, what? Self-defense? Why would the major’s son be threatening such a man?” Malcius asked.

“We will find out,” is all Rezkin said.

When the group reached the row of taverns and inns, the young lords begged off. Apparently, the trial of a commoner was not interesting enough to interrupt their beauty rest; or perhaps it was the gambling and entertainment they found a few doors down from their inn. It was just as well, because Rezkin did not intend to include them in his interrogation, anyway. This man had information that Rezkin wanted, and he wanted his interest kept secret.

Once the young lords were away, Wesson hurried up to Rezkin. “I told you I am not a battle mage. Why did you tell those lords that I am?”

“If you tried to tell me that you are a horse, I would still call you a battle mage. It is what you are, even if you do not accept it,” Rezkin replied flatly.

“I do not have to be a battle mage if I do not want to be. I have no desire to use my powers in such away, and not even a Sword Bearer can make me,” Wesson argued.

Rezkin stopped and looked the young mage in the eyes. Wesson’s remark reminded the others of who Rezkin actually was, and as the soldiers passed by with their prisoner, each eyed him surreptitiously while attempting to avoid notice. Rezkin ignored them and replied, “Journeyman Mage Wesson, you cannot stop being a battle mage any more than you can stop being human. Perhaps it is the term you dislike. A battle mage is simply one who is practiced in or has a natural affinity for destructive magic. That means you. If you choose not to use your powers in actual battle, that is up to you, but you are still a battle mage.”

Wesson shook his head. He knew what Rezkin was saying was true, but he did not have to like it. Changing the subject he said, “You told them that I am your mage. I do not remember coming to such an agreement. What is it you want from me?”

“I intend to put you on retainer,” Rezkin stated

“What? You want to put me on retainer, after what I told you of my powers? I thought you just wanted me to fix something or make an enchantment,” Wesson replied in disbelief.

“I have no need of such things at this time,” Rezkin replied as he continued walking.

Rezkin’s gait was quite a bit longer than Wesson’s natural stride, so the young mage had to hurry to keep up with the massive warrior. Feeling snarky with his loss of control of the situation, Wesson inquired, “Can you even afford to keep a battle mage on retainer?”

The warrior raised a brow and looked sideways at the mage. “You said, yourself, that you are not a battle mage.”

“Well,” Wesson huffed, “it is not like you can have it both ways, is it? If you go around telling people I am your battle mage, then they will expect me to perform as a battle mage. That comes with a price.”

“And, will you perform as a battle mage?” Rezkin inquired.

“You know I will not,” Wesson replied.

“Then, until you do, you will be paid as a journeyman generalist,” Rezkin announced.

Wesson winced. It was a low blow among mages. A generalist was a mage who learned only the basic skills necessary to pass the apprenticeship exams. Most never learned anything more of value and never reached the rank of Master. Generalists either found a way to make money in the mundane way or went about the kingdom scrounging any jobs they could find that they were capable of performing – just as Wesson had been doing.

“What makes you think I will accept such an offer,” Wesson replied.

Rezkin grinned wolfishly and replied, “You cannot even afford a room at an inn and a decent meal. You would have to be an idiot to refuse the offer of employment.”

“What will you pay me?” Wesson asked.

“What is the going rate for a journeyman generalist?” Rezkin inquired.

The mage saw no point in lying. The Sword Bearer could easily confirm Wesson’s claim. Wesson scrunched up his face in distaste as he said, “Two gold per month.” A battle mage would make that in a week, if not more.

Rezkin nodded and replied, “I will pay you three, plus expenses.” Wesson was shocked that the warrior would offer to pay him essentially twice the asking price. Rezkin noted the young mage’s surprise and continued. “Your first duty will not be pleasant,” he said seriously.

Wesson eyed the man wearily. “What do you ask of me?”

Rezkin shook his head. “Do you accept my offer?”

The young mage shifted anxiously. His eyes landed on Rezkin’s sword. The warrior would not be carrying such a weapon if he were not trusted by the crown. Surely the Sword Bearer would not ask him to do something illegal or unsavory. He did not know what authority had been granted the man gifted with the Sheyalin, but it must have been substantial for him to be able to claim a prisoner accused of murder from the baron. Still, he had no other prospects, and with a patron, he could eventually move beyond the rank of journeyman. Not to mention that regular meals and a bed would be a welcomed change.

Wesson took a deep breath and said, “I do.”

Rezkin nodded once. “Very well. You may compose a contract if you like. I have no need of one,” he said with obvious intent. Rezkin would take the matter into his own hands if Wesson shirked his duties. It said much about the warrior’s confidence and courage that he would speak to Wesson in such a way. Few but idiots would dare threaten a battle mage, even one who preferred not to fight, and Lord Rezkin did not seem like an idiot to him. In fact, he had much more knowledge of magical affairs than even the most astute mundane.

Rezkin dug through his purse and withdrew six gold coins. “This is for the first two months. I expect you to stay on at least that long. If you wish to leave my service after that, you may do so.”

Wesson was once again surprised. It was more than a fair offer. He was being paid up front and given the option to leave after only two months. As a generalist, most employers, if any would actually hire him, would require a commitment of at least six months while retaining the right to terminate his contract at any time. Generalists received little respect.

“Thank you, but I need to make one thing clear. I will not kill for you,” Wesson asserted.

“If I need killing, I am capable of doing it myself,” Rezkin replied. “I do, however, expect you to defend your own life and that of my companions if we are attacked. I do not believe that is too much to ask from any man. Outside of self-defense, if it is necessary, I will not ask you to kill anyone.”

The mage released a breath he had been holding with a heavy sigh. “That is fair,” he replied.

Rezkin grunted, “You may not think so after you learn of your first assignment. You might even be wishing I had killed you.”

That sounded rather ominous. Wesson’s anxiety returned, and his shoulders tensed. “What exactly is my first duty?”

Turning to the mage with a broad grin, Rezkin said, “Training a certain healer.”

Wesson’s eyes widened, and he shook his head emphatically, “No, no, no, no, no. She does not even wish to learn!”

“Which is the reason for the extra gold,” Rezkin replied. “You and I will convince her that she needs to learn, and then you will train her in as much use of the power as she can absorb.”

“But, I am not a Master. It is not acceptable for me to take on an apprentice,” Wesson argued.

“I seriously doubt Reaylin will ever desire to complete an official apprenticeship, but she does need to learn to use her powers effectively. All you will be responsible for is teaching her to call upon her power and direct it properly. I am a Master Healer of the Mundane, so I can legally oversee her training in the mundane healing arts,” Rezkin replied.

Wesson’s surprised eyes swept over Rezkin once again as he exclaimed, “You are a Master Healer of the Mundane?” The mage narrowed his eyes at his new employer. “Who are you, Lord Rezkin?”

“It is just Rezkin, Journeyman,” The warrior replied.

“You expect me to believe you are a commoner? If you were a commoner twice your age, you might have gained so much knowledge in the right company, but you – you have been educated beyond the means of a common family, even one of extraordinary means,” Wesson observed.

“You are not wrong,” Rezkin remarked as they approached the inn. “I never said I was a commoner.”

Chapter 5

Captain Jimson and Lieutenant Drascon were waiting at the mouth of an alley to the side of the building with their charge. When Rezkin and the mage arrived, Captain Jimson asked, “What do you want done with the prisoner?”

“Take him in through the back to my room,” Rezkin replied. “I will go in the front and alert the innkeeper of your coming.”

Captain Jimson saluted Rezkin out of habit, and then the two soldiers pulled the damaged prisoner through the alley. Rezkin and Wesson entered through the front and were immediately assailed by Tam and Frisha.

“Rez!” Frisha shouted with a relieved smile.

“What happened?” Tam asked. “We saw the mob. A couple of the other patrons returned saying there was a trial for murder but that some young lord intervened and prevented the execution. Another said it was the baron who stopped the execution, and someone else said it was actually the magistrate that was to be executed. What’s going on?”

Rezkin raised a hand and said, “One moment, Tam. I must speak to the innkeeper briefly.”

When Rezkin walked off, two pairs of curious eyes turned to Wesson. Sergeant Millins was less boisterous in his curiosity, but he, too, was paying close attention.

“Well?” Frisha asked.

“Well, what?” Wesson hedged.

Frisha released an exasperated breath. “Well, what happened?” she asked with frustration.

Wesson shrugged and said, “Perhaps we should wait for Lor-….ah, Rezkin to return.”

“Oh, come on! The whole city knows what happened. You were there. Tell us,” Frisha prodded.

Wesson sighed. He suddenly felt like he had been swept away by a flash flood. Never in his life had he been involved in something so eventful, and now he was stuck in the middle of it with his new employer. “Fine. In short, a man was accused of killing the mayor’s son. The magistrate did not give him a proper trial and issued orders for his execution in front of the mob. Lo-…Rezkin…questioned the magistrate’s methods and requested an appeal. The magistrate was disrespectful toward Rezkin and Captain Jimson and was unwilling to change his mind, so Rezkin removed him from his office. Then, the baron arrived…”

“Wait,” Tam interrupted. “What do you mean, ‘Rezkin removed him from his office?’ How can Rez remove a magistrate?”

“Well, he-…”

“I merely stated the intent,” Rezkin replied. “Baron Fendendril backed my decision.” Wesson eyed the man sideways. What Rezkin said was true, but it was not exactly the way it happened. There was never any doubt that Rezkin would follow through with his intent.

“Oh,” said Tam. “So the baron took care of the matter after all. What happened to the prisoner?”

“He is to be given a new trial,” Rezkin replied vaguely.

“That’s good,” Frisha beamed. “I’m so proud of you, Rez. You stood up for what was right against an angry mob and the magistrate. But, it’s a good thing the baron backed you. You could have been in a lot of trouble if things had gone differently,” she said with sudden concern.

“Have no worry, Frisha. The magistrate was out of line, and I was within my rights.” Frisha and Tam looked confused for a moment, but before they could ask for clarification, Rezkin continued, “It would be best if both of you stayed away from my room tonight.”

Frisha narrowed her eyes, and a hint of anger bled into her voice as she asked, “Why is that, Rez? Are you having company?” The sudden burst of jealousy surprised even her. What was wrong with her? She had never before been so obsessed with a man. If a man was interested in someone else, then she always thought, Good riddance. There was no point in trying to keep a man’s interest if he was prone to wandering. Every time Frisha even thought that Rezkin’s attention might wander, her blood boiled hot and her heart began to panic.

“Yes,” Rezkin stated, “which is why I must leave you now. You should both stay in your rooms. Tempers in this city are running hot tonight, and I would not want either of you running into trouble. In fact, once you have retired, I will place traps on your doors. I will remove them before dawn, as usual.”

“What?” Frisha nearly shouted. “You’re going to trap me in my room while you entertain?”

Rezkin frowned. “I would hardy call it entertaining, Frisha. I am merely going to get what I need and finish my business. I do not think you would care to witness my methods.”

“Oh! I can’t believe you!” Frisha gritted out between her teeth. She wanted to scream and cry, but she really did not want to make a scene in the common room of the inn. As it was, the noise of the other excited patrons was just loud enough to cover their conversation.

The warrior noticed how Frisha’s face heated, and her fists balled. Rezkin did not know why the young woman was so upset. Did she really want to be involved in the interrogation? He shifted uncertainly and said, “I suppose you could join us if you want. I just did not think it was the kind of thing with which you would be comfortable.”

Frisha’s face abruptly paled, and she swayed against Tam. Tam was still a little in shock at the woman’s reaction. Frisha’s jealousy seemed only to increase the longer they were around Rez. The young man also noticed, however, that Rezkin looked truly sincere and confused. Tam wondered if his friends were actually having two different conversations.

Just as Frisha tensed and opened her mouth to respond, Tam gripped her arm and said, “Hold off, Frisha. Rez, who exactly is staying in your room tonight?”

“Journeyman Wesson, unless he has changed his mind and would prefer his own room, and our prisoner,” Rezkin replied factually.

“What?” Frisha asked, completely deflated.

“You have the prisoner here?” Tam asked in surprise with a hushed voice.

“Yes,” said Rezkin. “I need to interrogate him. I must conclude my investigation before dawn. That is when the baron will rule on his case since we are leaving in the morning.”

Frisha punched Rezkin in the arm with a small fist. “Rezkin! I though you meant you were having a woman for company.” Her jealousy was instantly replaced with equal amounts of relief and anger. She was not ready to admit that she was actually angry with herself for getting worked up over nothing.

Rezkin looked at Frisha in puzzlement and replied, “As far as I know, Frisha, no women were involved in the incident. Besides, I would prefer never to have any woman but you near me when I sleep.” Rezkin felt the muscles along his spine tense at the thought of having a strange woman in his bedchamber while he was sleeping.

Frisha’s heart jumped at Rezkin’s words. Her face flushed with embarrassment at both his insinuation and her earlier accusation. She smiled, but the expression was soon lost when Tam caught her eye. He was giving her his most disapproving look, and she knew she had messed up again. She questioned Rezkin’s honor and sincerity, again, and Tam was irritated with her. Frisha was amazed at how protective Tam had become with regard to Rezkin. Tam practically idolized the man for his courage and honor and his decent amount of skill, but he treated Rezkin’s heart like it was made of porcelain. Tam would never forgive Frisha if she broke it.

“I, um, I’m sorry, Rez. I misunderstood what you were saying,” Frisha offered as she looked up from lashes lowered in shame. She glanced at the young mage who had witnessed her outburst, but he was pointedly pretending the conversation had not occurred.

“So, I am correct in assuming you do not want to be involved in questioning the prisoner?” he asked.

“Ah, no, not really,” Frisha replied with chagrin. “I think I will retire to my room.”

“I will escort you,” Tam said with a clenched jaw. “I wish to have a word before you retire.” Frisha winced but nodded her assent.

“One more thing before you go. Where is Reaylin?” Rezkin asked.

Frisha shrugged. “I think she went up to our room after you left. She said something about getting a better view from the second floor. I don’t know what she was trying to see, though, since after the mob passed, it was just an empty street.”

“Would you send her to my room, please?” Rezkin asked.

Frisha narrowed her eyes again, and Wesson suddenly felt the need to jump in and stave off another outburst. “The prisoner requires healing. If she is willing, I could assist her.”

Frisha snapped her mouth shut and nodded. “Fine,” she mumbled.

Rezkin held up a hand and implored, “Do not tell her why I am requesting her presence. If she knows, she will not show.”

Frisha grinned at the other girl’s upcoming discomfort and then wiped the look from her face. Something was seriously wrong with her. She should not be taking pleasure in other people’s misfortunes – even Reaylin’s…probably.

As Frisha and Tam moved toward the stairs, Rezkin nodded to Sergeant Millins to follow. The man had been hanging back keeping an eye on the patrons around them. He caught most of the conversation and could not wait to share it with his comrades. They would all get a good laugh out of it over a round of ale.

Rezkin looked at Wesson questioningly, as if the young mage could divine the truth about women. Wesson simply shook his head and asked, “So, ah, you and Lady Frisha are…together?”

Rezkin cocked his head and glanced back in the direction of the stairs where Frisha had gone. The mage could see that they were no longer in each other’s company, and Wesson knew they were traveling together, so he assumed the mage must have been inquiring as to the nature of their relationship. Rezkin hazarded a guess as to the meaning of the question and replied, “Frisha is my Girl Friend.”

“She, ah, seems to have a temper,” Wesson observed.

“Yes, it has only gotten worse as of late. I assume it has to do with the fact that her uncle and guardian refused my proposal,” Rezkin remarked as he guided the young mage toward the stairs.

“Oh, well, I think that would do it,” Wesson replied.

Rezkin led the way to his room, and the mage followed anxiously. The young warrior entered the room to find the injured prisoner prostrate on the floor. Lieutenant Drascon stood beside the door while Captain Jimson sat in a chair near the window keeping an eye out for any disgruntled townsfolk thinking to make a go at the prisoner. The warrior closed the door and barred it before turning to survey his comrades.

“Is he conscious?” Rezkin asked roughly.

In response, Kai Colguerun groaned and turned his head to look at the young lord who had thus far saved his life. One of his eyes was swollen shut, but the other, dark and bloodshot, stared at the young man.

Rezkin nodded in acknowledgement and said, “Reaylin will hopefully be arriving soon. Before she gets here, I would like to make one thing clear. Only the people in this room and perhaps two others are aware of the honor I bear, and I would keep it that way. None of the other traveling companions know of the weapons I carry or of my status and authority. I do not care to impress that authority often, but in this I must. Do not speak of it to any who are not in this room. In fact, it is best if you simply do not speak of it at all, lest you be overheard.”

“Just what is your status and authority, Lord Rezkin?” Drascon dared to ask.

Rezkin turned his vivid blue gaze on the lieutenant and said, “Suffice it to say that both your captain and General Marcum have the requisite knowledge, and it is for this reason you will defer to me when necessary. That is as much information as I am willing to provide at this time.”

“Frisha?” Wesson asked.

Rezkin’s eyes fell on the journeyman mage. “No, she does not know,” he replied.

Kai coughed and heaved and then asked in a dry, raspy voice, “Why does a Sword Bearer hide?”

Rezkin lifted a brow as he replied, “I believe it is you who should be answering the questions, but I will tell you in good faith. Firstly, it is because I do not wish to draw attention to myself. It would be inconvenient. Secondly, I have tasks I must perform, and people treat a Sword Bearer with intense awe or fear, neither of which is conducive to my purposes.”

A knock at the door interrupted the conversation. Lieutenant Drascon opened the door expecting Reaylin but found the innkeeper, a maid, and two young men hefting extra cots. Drascon looked to Rezkin in question, and the warrior waved them through. They all entered, nervously eyeing the soldiers, the mage, and the beaten man sprawled on the floor. They placed one cot against the back wall and the other on the far wall opposite the bed that already occupied the room. The maid quickly spread the linens and blankets over the cots and then ran out almost frantically. The innkeeper stared at the injured prisoner before he finally spoke.

“Is he going to be using one of these cots? I’ve no desire to be boarding a murderer, and I’ll not be providing for his comfort neither,” the innkeeper proclaimed.

Rezkin directed a hard look at the portly man. “You will because I have paid you to do so. If you still refuse, then be assured, I have other means of getting what I require.”

The innkeeper’s eyes widened, and his brow broke into a cold sweat. His bulging blue eyes danced around the room at the hard men who stared back at him. He wiped his hands on his apron and replied, “J-Just make sure he stays in the room. We can’t have him in the common room with the other patrons.”

The injured prisoner released a wheezing chuckle, and Rezkin waved the innkeeper away. Like anyone would keep a beaten prisoner in a busy common room.

“Have someone bring up a couple of buckets of water and some food, as well,” Rezkin called to the innkeeper’s rather large retreating form. Reaylin had to plaster herself to the wall just to let the large man by before she was able to make it to the room.

“Reaylin, thank you for coming,” Rezkin said as he slipped on the broad smile she seemed to like so much.

“Of course, Rezkin. I’ll always come when you call,” she said sweetly with a return grin.

Rezkin raised his brows, “Is that so? I will hold you to that.”

It was only then that Reaylin looked around and noted all of the other people in the room. There were the two soldiers, the mage, and…

“Who is that?” Reaylin asked in surprise as she pointed at the half-dead man on the floor.

“That is your patient,” Rezkin said as he barred the door behind her.

Reaylin jumped at the sound of the world closing in on her. This was not happening. The most perfect man in the world had invited her to his room to do something she hated…detested…reviled! She wouldn’t do it.

“No, Rezkin! You can’t do this to me! You know how I feel about it,” Reaylin accused.

“Do you know what I think, Reaylin? I think you did not hate it as much as you thought you would. I think you actually enjoyed the feeling of the power running through you. I saw how you did not wish to withdraw it when the healing was finished. And, I think you enjoyed actually helping another being. It made you feel good – like you made a difference in the world,” Rezkin asserted as he moved closer to the young woman. He entered her personal space to keep her off balance. He did not want her escaping into denial and feeble excuses.

“Come,” he said as he took the young woman’s hand. Reaylin practically melted at Rezkin’s touch. His crystal blue eyes were haunting as he gazed at her with uncanny understanding. He pulled her in the direction of the wounded man lying on the floor.

“Look,” he ordered as he turned her face with warm, strong fingers. And, Reaylin did look. The man at her feet was covered in filth and blood. His clothes were torn nearly to shreds, and dark blue and black patches of flesh covered much of his body. Angry red swelling rose where more bruises were sure to form. Cuts and scrapes covered his arms and legs as though he had been dragged for quite a distance. A reddish purple ring ran around his thick neck, cutting so deeply that the skin under his jaw was split and torn. The man’s face was smashed and so swollen she could never have determined how he was supposed to look. His lips were split, the nose was broken and twice as large as it should have been, and one eye was swollen shut. The other bloody brown eye looked back at her with empty resolve. It was the kind of resolve a man feels when he knows nothing is left for him. He was a man resolved to his own death.

“By the Maker, what happened to him?” Reaylin gasped.

“We have yet to receive the full story, and I hardly think he is in any condition to tell it,” Rezkin replied.

Reaylin’s eyes widened as she looked back at the wheezing man. “Y-You were the reason for the mob earlier.” It was more of a statement than a question.

Kai forced himself to nod once. It was painful. All of the muscles in his neck and shoulders were strained, and his skin was tight and torn.

Reaylin’s eyes darted back to Rezkin. “Why did they do this to him?”

“He has been accused of murder,” Rezkin replied factually.

“You want me to heal a murderer?” she shouted.

Rezkin caught her eyes as he said firmly, “I said he was accused. I did not say he was guilty.”

“So, he’s innocent?” the young woman asked.

“I did not say that, either. I am conducting the investigation. At least, I will be if you ever heal the man,” he stated, allowing a hint of irritation to enter his voice.

Reaylin scowled. “I told you before, Rezkin. I am not a healer! I am a warrior.”

“So you will let this man suffer? The baron has agreed to accept my findings in the morning and issue his ruling in the matter. If this man, Kai Colguerun, does not succumb to his injuries tonight, then he will hang in the morning…unless,” Rezkin added as he raised a finger, “I find that he is not guilty of murder. In order to determine the truth, I need to hear the man’s story. Reaylin, will you let him die?”

“I cannot believe you would manipulate me in such a way!” Reaylin exclaimed.

Captain Jimson suddenly fell into a coughing fit in his chair a few paces away. Rezkin raised a brow at the captain. The man held up a hand as he pounded on his own chest and then said, “Sorry. Please continue.” Jimson had nearly come to the conclusion that if anyone could manipulate the gods, it would be Rezkin.

Rezkin turned back to Reaylin and replied, “I only seek to help you accept who you are, Reaylin. That, and to get this man healed. I could treat him in the mundane way, but it would do him no good before tomorrow, and Journeyman Wesson cannot do it without you.”

Reaylin literally stomped around the room as she huffed and released a few unladylike frustrated groans and growls. Wesson and Drascon stared wide-eyed at the young woman who was throwing a childish temper tantrum, but Jimson’s eyes held a fondness that lifted the corners of his lips. As Rezkin patiently waited for the fit to end, Kai’s eye rolled around to meet his gaze, his thoughts clearly communicating, “Are you serious?”

Reaylin’s stomping was interrupted by a soft knock at the door. Lieutenant Drascon opened the door to admit one of the young men from earlier. He was carrying two buckets of water, and the maid who followed held a tray containing a large platter of meats, cheeses, bread and soup along with a carafe of wine and several stacked goblets. The maid set the tray on the desk near the door and then scurried away after the boy.

Lieutenant Drascon barred the door behind them, and everyone turned their attention back to Reaylin. “Are you about done?” Rezkin asked. Reaylin responded with a scowl. “The man is suffering, Reaylin,” Rezkin remarked just as Kai fell into a coughing fit that ended with bloody phlegm spattering over the floorboards. Rezkin balled a fist in frustration. He knew Reaylin was going to cave or she would not be acting so petulant. He just wanted her to hurry up. He had other tasks this night.

Finally, Reaylin stomped over to stand opposite Rezkin over the body of the injured man. She glared at Rezkin and then turned toward Wesson and said, “Fine, lets get this over with. Hurry up.”

Wesson shuffled forward and knelt beside the man as Reaylin did the same. Kai’s good eye roved over the two curiously and then fluttered shut. Wesson talked Reaylin through the process again, indicating she should place her hands on the bare skin of man’s chest. He said that since the injuries were so extensive, it was easiest to start at the core and let the power flow outward. Reaylin struggled with herself when it came to calling upon her vimara. Part of her wanted to feel its utterly unique energy, but another part wanted desperately to forget she had it at all. When she finally released the flood, summer sunshine and lightning and a cool breeze and honeysuckle flooded through her. It was as if every sensation in the world was balled into one and held within her.

The young mage guided Reaylin through the process. She pushed a trickle of power into the damaged body and then pushed more. Once a decent flow was going, she chanted over and over in her mind that her will was to heal. Wesson wrested the power and guided it toward the most serious injuries. In addition to the obvious wounds, Kai had several broken ribs, one of which was pressing on his lung and was dangerously close to puncturing the vital organ. He had a few bulging disks in his spine, three broken fingers, a fractured tibia, several shattered bones in his face, and a damaged kidney, not to mention the internal bleeding.

Wesson pushed the healing much further than he normally would for a single session, since he did not think they could convince Reaylin to go for a second round later. If Kai was innocent, the mage did not want the man to suffer needlessly. When he felt Reaylin begin to sway next to him, he released her power and ordered her to do the same. As the energizing vimara was sucked back behind whatever gates held it, Reaylin fell back onto her rear. She was gasping for breath and felt as though she had just endured two or three training sessions in a row.

Rezkin handed both her and the mage goblets of wine, which they gratefully accepted. Kai could breath normally, now, without the excruciating pain. He glanced toward Rezkin and then slowly pushed himself into a sitting position with his back resting against the rear cot. Captain Jimson handed the man a goblet of water, which he drained practically in one gulp. The man’s major injures had been healed, leaving only superficial bruising and a few cuts and scrapes. His eye, which had previously been swollen shut, was still slightly puffy but was open and clear. The healing could not restore his energy, though, and the man had been through much.

Captain Jimson pulled the chair he had vacated around into the center of the room and told Kai to sit. Kai gingerly gained his feet. The injuries were gone, but much soreness remained. He shuffled over and dropped into the stiff, wooden chair. Jimson brought the man a bowl of soup and a small plate with a chunk of bread, meat and cheese. Kai gratefully took the offering. He honestly had not thought he would receive another meal again. In truth, he was certain he would already have been dead by now. He tested his jaw and noted that it now functioned properly.

Reaylin stomped over to the desk, filled her goblet with wine, drained the contents and then positioned herself before Lieutenant Drascon, daring him not to open the door. Rezkin nodded, and the lieutenant stepped aside, taking the bar with him. Just as she made to leave, Kai spoke.

“Thank you, Lady Healer. I owe you a debt. If I live long enough to repay it, I will not forget,” he said in a gruff voice.

“I am not a healer,” Reaylin protested. “And, I want nothing to do with you or your debt. This is all on Rezkin,” she said just before she stormed down the corridor. Drascon watched her from the doorway as she banged on her own door and shouted, “It’s me!” The door swung open, and Reaylin disappeared. The lieutenant turned and shut the door before dropping the bar back into place.

All attention turned to Kai. He immediately dropped his eyes and began shoveling food into his mouth once again. When the food was gone, the captain took his bowl and plate and handed him a goblet of wine. Rezkin removed his constricting doublet and laid it across his bed. His shirt was wrinkled and damp from the summer heat, and Kai could see the outline of several weapons through the clinging material as he surreptitiously observed his captor.

Rezkin turned and eyed his companions before his gaze fell back on the prisoner. He began removing his hidden knives in the same order the man had observed them, placing each one neatly on the bed. Six silvery blades lined up in the lamplight.

Kai grunted and said, “You do not expect me to believe that is all you have.”

Rezkin bared his teeth in a mockery of a grin and said, “No, those are just the ones you found.” The man grunted again. Rezkin cocked his head and said, “It does not bode well for the city guard that they managed to miss a total of four of your own.”

Kai froze, his eyes slowly moving back to the impressive young man. “Saw that, did you?”

Rezkin raised a brow. “Not that it would have done you any good with your arms bound while you swung from a noose. I am going to question you, Kai, and I am going to insist that you answer me fully and truthfully,” Rezkin announced.

“I will tell you whatever you want to know about that dirt bag. I only wish he had suffered more before I killed him,” Kai answered.

“Those are not the questions I will be asking,” Rezkin replied. “I have little interest in the death of the mayor’s son. My interest is in you, Kai.”

Jimson, Drascon and Wesson each exchanged looks of confusion. Kai’s brows rose as he considered the young man.

“What I want to know is how you managed to get yourself into that mess. You must have a wish to die,” Rezkin remarked.

“I have many wishes,” Kai stated, “but dying is not one of them. Truth is, I screwed up. I let my emotions get the best of me.”

Rezkin nodded, “You broke the Rules and you suffered for it.”

Kai narrowed his eyes at the young warrior. The way he said rules seemed to imply more. “What rules are those?” he asked.

“Hmm…Rules 6, 8, 24, 37, 57, 96, 117, 245, and very nearly 156. Perhaps others, but I cannot say since I do not know your story.”

Kai gave a start. He could see through the damp white material that no marks lay upon the man’s body. “You are not one of us,” he stated with certainty.

“No, I am not,” Rezkin replied.

“Who are you? A washout that survived the culling? Are you the king’s new pet?” Kai spat.

“I am about as far from either of those as you can get,” Rezkin replied. “Whom do you serve, Kai?”

“Is that what this is about? The king sent you to hunt me down? I knew they would come for me sooner or later. Was he afraid one of our own would not follow through?” Kai questioned.

“I am not here on behalf of the king,” Rezkin replied. “I am here of my own accord, and I did not come looking for you. In that, I simply got lucky,” he finished with a predatory grin.

“I was a king’s man. I served King Bordran with honor. He was worthy of my loyalty,” Kai remarked.

“And King Caydean?” Rezkin inquired.

Kai lifted his chin and said, “I serve the kingdom. And you? What did you do for King Caydean to receive your Sheyalin? I heard no announcements of the honor. It was kept secret, then.” Kai narrowed his eyes. “Was it an assassination? Who did you kill for the king? Was it the prince?”

“Hmm, that is an interesting hypothesis,” Rezkin said with a nod. “Although, most would probably cry treason for such an accusation against the king. Also, I do not believe that assassination of the crown prince is typically viewed as an act worthy of a Sheyalin. You may be on to something, though, except that there is fault in your logic. King Caydean did not bequeath this blade to me,” he said as he slowly slid Kingslayer from its sheath. He held the liquid silver blade out to the side allowing the lamplight to dance among the silver and blue swirls. He reached across with his left hand and slowly slid Bladesunder from the other scabbard, holding it out to his other side as he said, “Nor did he bequeath to me this blade.”

Lieutenant Drascon gave a start. Not only did this Lord Rezkin carry two Sheyalins, which was unheard of, he also all but admitted they did not rightfully belong to him. Drascon’s head swung around to gauge his captain’s reaction. Captain Jimson studied the blades appreciatively but otherwise seemed unconcerned. The lieutenant turned his head to look at the mage, and he, too, was unruffled.

Kai’s eyes widened and shifted back and forth between the two Sheyalin blades before returning to meet the cold blue eyes of his captor. “You carry two Sheyalins. You are not the rightful Bearer, then?”

“I did not say that,” Rezkin replied. “I only stated that Caydean did not give them to me. My blades were bequeathed by King Bordran.”

“Impossible,” Kai argued. “I would have known about it. Show me your papers.”

“I do not believe you are in a position to make demands at the moment, Kai Coroleus,” Rezkin remarked, “but I will make you a deal. You were King Bordran’s man, so you say. I will show you my papers, and when you are satisfied that I was, indeed, granted the honor of Sword Bearer by right under order of King Bordran, then you will answer all of my questions truthfully and thoroughly.”

Kai studied Rezkin’s stark looks. The strong jaw, broad shoulders and larger than average build were imposing, but the inky black hair, pale skin and startling blue eyes were what kept his attention. Kai nodded once and replied, “If you can prove that, then I will grant unto you the loyalty I once bestowed upon a worthy king.”

As Rezkin retrieved the small metal tube and removed the cap, he said, “I do not ask for your loyalty, only answers.”

Rezkin passed the vital parchment to the man who accepted it with reverence. Kai’s eyes followed the flowing script, which ended far too quickly. His head darted up. “Where is the definition of authority?” he asked quickly.

Rezkin simply grinned.

Kai looked over the parchment carefully, turning it in various positions before the light as though looking for some trick. “Mage, can you say that this has not been tampered with? The name was written by a different hand, and pertinent information is missing.”

Wesson was surprised when he found himself chuckling. “You would believe me if I told you it was not? Knowing I am in this man’s service?”

Kai looked at the young mage with calculating eyes. “By Mage Oath, I would.” Wesson rolled his eyes. An oath sworn under a mage’s power was binding and could have disastrous consequences, if the mage was even capable of overcoming the compulsion to comply with the oath in the first place. Unfortunately, a Mage Oath could only be sworn under one’s own power, so only a mage could issue one, and they were not transferrable to mundanes.

Wesson darted a glance at Rezkin who waved the man forward. In truth, Rezkin was also interested in what the young mage had to say. Wesson took the parchment from the prisoner and examined it carefully. He was not so much looking at the content of the certificate, as impressive as it was, but at the enchantments woven into the document. Possibly more enchantments were woven into this small document than he had ever seen in a single item.

He released a low whistle and muttered, “This is impressive.”

“Well?” Kai huffed.

Wesson ignored the impatient man and turned to peer at Rezkin’s blades. “May I?” he asked, motioning to the swords.

Rezkin nodded and laid them both on the bed side-by-side. Wesson knelt down and leaned in closely, careful not to touch either. He had never seen the enchantments on a Sheyalin before. They were unlike anything he had studied, but he was able to work his way through them, even if he would never be able to duplicate the process. Next, he stood and approached Rezkin. He was so focused on the enchantments that he completely missed the signs that Rezkin might not welcome his proximity. He studied the subtle energy that surrounded the warrior but could not sense into his being. Finally, Wesson stepped back and nodded.

Rezkin felt a tingle of mage power as Wesson stated, “By my Oath of Power, I certify that these documents are legitimate and have not been tampered with in any way beyond the original intent of the signatory, who I can also guarantee was, in fact, King Bordran.”

“Can you explain the different script?” Kai asked in awe. Rezkin allowed the question. He wanted to know, too.

“Well, yes. The name was added by a different hand at a later date…about twenty years, in fact,” Wesson replied.

“What?” Kai exclaimed. Rezkin frowned. That would mean the certificate had been signed around the time of Rezkin’s birth. It was inconceivable that the king would bequeath two Sheyalin blades to an infant.

“So, there is no guarantee the blades were intended for me?” Rezkin asked. All eyes turned to the Sword Bearer with curiosity. They were all thinking the same thing. Did Rezkin really not know how he came to bear the Sheyalins?

“Oh, no!” Wesson stated emphatically. “They were definitely intended for you. There is no possible way anyone else could have bonded with them.”

“What?” Rezkin asked, his brow furrowing in confusion. “What do you mean, bonded?”

The mage’s eyes surveyed the room before returning to Rezkin. “Perhaps you would prefer to speak of this in private?”

Rezkin cocked his head in contemplation. Of all present, Lieutenant Drascon was of most concern. Rezkin did not know exactly where the man’s loyalties stood. Rezkin met the lieutenant’s eyes as he spoke. “I believe I have little to worry about from those present. Anyone hoping to leave this room will swear an oath of secrecy, and anyone breaking said oath will suffer painfully before I end him.”

Lieutenant Drascon swallowed tightly and nodded his head in understanding. Rezkin turned his eyes back to Kai who wore a small, proud grin. Rezkin cocked a questioning brow at the older man. Kai simply shrugged. The young Sword Bearer nodded to the journeyman to continue his explanation. Jimson felt honored and humbled that Rezkin placed such trust in him. Rezkin had not even looked to him for agreement.

“Oh, well, the certificate was composed about twenty years ago. The name of the recipient was left blank, but an enchantment was laid up on it to allow only for the name of the intended recipient to be recorded. Even though a name was not provided, the document knew who was the intended recipient.”

The young mage looked around to see that everyone was following and then continued. “A name is only one way of identifying a person. A skilled mage can create an enchantment that identifies a person by his or her aura. Unlike many names, an aura is unique to each individual. You may have heard of wards that are designed to only allow a certain individual or group of individuals to pass through. Those wards use this method of aura reading, as it is called. Your aura, Rezkin, was recorded in the document even though the space for the name was left blank. I do not know if all Certificates of Authority are constructed in such a way, but it is much more reliable than using a given name.”

Wesson glanced at Rezkin’s swords and added, “Interestingly, your aura was also recorded into an enchantment woven into each of your swords. They recognized you when you claimed them for the first time, which we refer to as bonding with an enchanted object. If anyone but you attempts to wield them, he or she will experience some very negative effects, possibly even death. It is a most ingenious and intricate destructive magic. I should very much like to study it more, if you would permit.”

“Why would the name be left blank?” Captain Jimson inquired, breaking his silence.

Wesson shrugged, “Perhaps the name was not known or it was intentionally left blank to keep the identity of the recipient hidden for a time.”

“Or both,” Kai remarked cryptically. “There is also the matter of the missing statement of authority.”

“Oh, it is not just the written authority that is missing,” Wesson replied.

“What do you mean?” Rezkin asked.

“What do you know of the…management…of the Sheyalin blades?” Wesson asked.

“Once they are bequeathed, they are the property of the recipient for life. When the Sword Bearer dies, the blades must be returned to the king,” Rezkin answered.

“Yes, that is true. Each blade is riddled with enchantments. These are very intricate and subtle, which means they are well hidden. I could sense the enchantments when we first met, but only because of my strong natural affinity for destructive magic, of which most of those enchantments are composed.”

“You could sense my blades with your magic?” Rezkin asked with concern. It would not do for him to be walking around with two beacons strapped to his hips.

“Like I said, it is only because I am particularly sensitive to that kind of magic. Plus, I could only sense it when you were very close – within a few feet, and I could not tell what kind of enchantments they were or how strong. You could have been wearing an enchanted broach, as far as most mages could tell. I recognized it as destructive magic, so I assumed it was on one of your weapons; but as far as I knew, you could have had a kitchen knife enchanted to never dull.”

Waving his hand, Wesson said, “Anyway, back to your original question. Sheyalin blades are also bonded to the reigning king – all of them. While the swords and authority cannot ever be retracted during a bearer’s lifetime, that does not mean the king completely loses track of them. He can use the bond he shares with the blades to track them.” Rezkin froze, suddenly very aware of the dangers of carrying the traceable Sheyalin blades – double-edged sword indeed.

The mage continued, “It is a way for the king to keep an eye on his Sword Bearers – to make sure they do not need handling. Bearing a Sheyalin is not a free ticket. If you misbehave, it means your life. Most people to do not realize the commitment a Sword Bearer makes. It also enables the king to locate the blades when a bearer dies.”

“What does this have to do with the missing statement of authority?” Rezkin grumbled. He was increasingly uncomfortable with the whole scenario. He did not like the idea of the king tracking him, particularly since he did not know if the man was an enemy.

“I was getting to that,” Wesson chided. “Your swords are also missing the bond with the king. They are only bonded to you. King Bordran granted you the full authority of a Sword Bearer of Ashai without any of the limitations. While you are expected to serve the good of the kingdom, you are autonomous in your authority and are in no way beholden to the crown.”

“Who could have removed the bond enchantment? The King’s mage?” Rezkin asked.

“Oh, no. That particular enchantment was tied to the king and was designed in such a way that it would have been passed to his first direct blood descendant upon his passing. Only King Bordran could have removed the enchantment,” Wesson explained.

“King Bordran was a mage?” Rezkin asked with surprise. Nothing in his studies had ever indicated that the king had mage power.

“Yes, of course. Perhaps it is little known among the general populace, but it is a well-known fact among mages. All of the direct royal bloodline have been mages,” the journeyman replied.

Rezkin’s shoulders relaxed. “Good, then you are saying I cannot be tracked through the bond with my swords.”

“Yes, that is correct,” Wesson replied.

“What he is saying is that you could sit down right here and declare this inn to be the center of your new kingdom,” Captain Jimson huffed. Rezkin did not seem to recognize the significance of the declaration.

“Or you could just claim Ashai,” Kai mused. “Of course, you would have to get past the guards, and the strikers, and the army,” he said as he nodded his head toward the two soldiers in the room. Both men looked extremely uncomfortable. Drascon’s eyes kept darting to Jimson, looking for some sign of action.

Rezkin frowned. “What use have I for a kingdom?” he growled.

Kai barked a deep laugh and shook his head. He studied the young man one more time before he tilted forward in his chair and slid to his knees on the wooden floor. His hands were empty, since he had no sword, so he fisted his hand over his heart and lowered his eyes. With resolve he intoned, “Under the watchful gaze of the Maker and before the eyes of two officers of the Army of Ashai and a battle mage, I, Zankai Colguerun Tresdian, do hereby swear honor and fealty to Rezkin, my liege, my lord, my king. By my blade I will protect and serve him as my king. Let this oath be binding above and beyond all previous oaths, so let my loyalty be known.”

Chapter 6

Everyone stared at the kneeling man with wide eyes, mouths agape. It was no simple oath of fealty given a liege lord. Kai had claimed Rezkin as his king. It meant that the man was no longer a citizen of Ashai, unless Rezkin claimed Ashai as his own. Kai now belonged to Rezkin’s nonexistent kingdom. He had defected, a crime of treason punishable by death, unless Rezkin, as the man’s new ruler, could provide sanctuary. Since Rezkin had no kingdom, sanctuary was an unlikely luxury.

Lieutenant Drascon suddenly turned to the mage and exclaimed, “Are you sure you healed his head right? The man has gone mad.” The soldier looked around the room at the others and said, “Those of us present know what injuries the man has suffered this night, but others may not be so understanding when he speaks such words of treason.” He glared at Kai to make his point.

Rezkin cocked his head thoughtfully. Lieutenant Drascon was giving the man the opportunity to retract his words. Many men in his position, perhaps most, would have simply arrested Kai or even cut the man down for such an offense. Rezkin was still unsure of Drascon, but at least the man seemed to have some compassion. Or, perhaps he was simply loath to act when no one else in the room was willing to do so.

Wesson scratched his head thoughtfully and shook his head in disagreement. “No, there is no treason here. Rezkin was essentially granted the Right of Rule within Ashai. He was only subject to Bordran’s authority; but with these documents and enchantments, that subjugation was not passed on to Bordran’s successor. In fact, some might even claim that Rezkin is rightfully Bordran’s successor. These documents could be interpreted as proof that Rezkin was named Bordran’s heir. Rezkin has as much right and authority to claim property and vassals as does King Caydean, more if Rezkin is recognized as the true heir. Of course, this is only pertinent if he has the power to enforce his authority. As it is, King Caydean has the might of the army backing him, and even a Sword Bearer cannot take on an army.”

Drascon’s jaw dropped. “So, you are saying that Lord Rezkin has the right to claim the throne?”

The young mage’s eyes lost focus as he retreated into his mind. “Well, some could claim that Rezkin already holds the throne, legally, if not literally.” He scratched his head again and then spread his hands as he said, “It could be argued that Rezkin is rightfully king to all of us and Caydean is the usurper.” Wesson blinked and then looked up at the horrified faces of the two soldiers. “I am just saying it could be interpreted that way. I doubt many would really believe or accept it unless he or she was already inclined to disregard King Caydean. It is a technicality.”

All attention turned to Rezkin whose eyes rested on the man at his feet. He and Kai were still in the midst of an oath binding, and neither could speak or deviate until the ceremony was finished. Rezkin had to either accept the man and grant him his protection and sanctuary, or he had to deny him, at which point the soldiers would be beholden to demand Kai’s death for treason.

Rezkin looked to his friend, Jimson. The man was frowning in disapproval, but he said nothing. Rezkin’s primary purpose was to honor and protect his friends. He did not want vassals, and he certainly did not intend to claim the kingdom. The entire conversation had gotten out of hand. Just because someone could do something did not mean he wanted to or that he would.

The young warrior clenched his jaw and then gritted out, “Zankai Colguerun Tresdian, I, Rezkin, do hereby accept your oath of fealty and your blade in service to me. In return, I offer you protection and sanctuary, in so far as I am capable of providing. You may rise.”

Kai looked up with a scruffy, toothy grin. He pushed up to his feet, groaning slightly. He was as fit as any man could be at his age, but the hard floor did nothing good for his aging knees. Once on his feet, he performed a deep, courtly bow and said, “Your majesty, I am at your service.”

Rezkin frowned and grumbled, “You will not do that. And, you will not call me your majesty. I am Rezkin. You will also not speak of this to anyone. I have no need or want of vassals, and I certainly have no intention of claiming any throne. I only accepted your oath because, if I had not, these two would have your head.” This last he said as he motioned toward the disgruntled soldiers. Kai barked out a deep belly laugh. Rezkin asked, “Why did you swear such an oath?”

The older man grinned broadly and said, “Several reasons, really. I have been taking your measure. The way you claimed me from that mob and the sadistic magistrate said much about your character. I know you want information because of what I am, but I think you would have done it regardless of who was lying there on the ground. The duke’s son said as much, anyway. He seems to hold your values in high regard, even if he does not actually practice many of them. Also, you had me healed, and I gather it was no easy feat to convince that particular little healer to help. An interrogation does not require a healthy prisoner and certainly not one who is fed so well.”

With a smirk Kai said, “You are either a man of high standards or a great manipulator, but I have a sense that you are a bit of both. That leads me to the third reason, which I think you already understand. I was King Bordran’s man, and if he found you worthy of such power and authority, then I will accept his judgment. King Bordran knew his sons. He lived long enough to see them as men. If Bordran thought the kingdom needed one such as you, then I am inclined to believe it. Finally, this is the kind of miraculous opportunity about which one such as me only dreams. This allows me to legally and honorably get out from beneath the thumb of that tyrannous, backstabbing, dishonorable sociopath, Caydean.”

Drascon stepped forward gripping his hilt, “You will not speak ill of the king!”

Kai barked out a laugh and replied, “He is not my king. I can speak of him any way I please.” He grinned wide, showing all of his teeth.

The lieutenant glanced uncertainly at Rezkin and then at his captain. Captain Jimson’s eyes were glued to the floor, but he felt the lieutenant’s questioning stare. He simply shook his head. Drascon scowled and looked back at Kai. “You are in his kingdom, and you will speak of him with respect.”

“NO, I am in King Rezkin’s kingdom, and Caydean does not deserve my respect,” Kai countered.

“King Rezkin?” Drascon gasped in exasperation. “The man does not even claim it for his own!” he exclaimed as he waved a hand in Rezkin’s direction.

“He does not need to,” Kai replied. “It is his responsibility.”

Rezkin cocked his head in thought. Was it his responsibility? The power and authority had been granted by King Bordran, and Rezkin had essentially accepted the honor when he claimed the swords. Did King Bordran intend for Rezkin to claim the kingdom from his own son?

“How is it his responsibility?” Drascon questioned.

“Ah, actually, he may be correct,” Wesson interrupted. All eyes turned to the young mage. “Um, as a Sword Bearer, Rezkin is bound by the wishes and intent of the king who bequeathed to him the swords. If it was Bordran’s intent for Rezkin to claim the throne, then Rezkin has a responsibility to do so. But, that may not have been Bordran’s intent, so we cannot say at this point.”

Kai rocked back on his feet with a satisfied grin. “I say it was his intent, and you cannot prove otherwise,” he remarked.

“I think you are enjoying this too much, Kai Colguerun,” Captain Jimson said as he finally decided to share his thoughts. More than the talk of kings and power, his concern for his friend was overwhelming. “Is it your intent to get Rezkin killed? If anyone of power were to hear of this, Rezkin would be at the top of the king’s hit list. Do you think King Caydean will stand idly by while another lives with equal right to the throne?”

The Captain glanced around at the room’s occupants and continued. “We have all heard the rumors. People claim the king is paranoid as it is, and that is why the prince went missing. People say the king feared his younger brother would make a play for the throne by the same manner people speculate Caydean claimed the throne from his father. Prince Thresson did not even have the right to claim the throne from his brother unless the king died. You are saying Rezkin has the right to call himself king right now. What do you think Caydean will do when he hears of it?”

“Do you think he will hear of it from me?” Kai questioned. “Of everyone here, I would most concern myself with your lieutenant. He seems most loyal to your king.”

“Of course I am loyal. I am a soldier of Ashai. Do you think loyalty can be tossed around so easily? If you do, then yours means little,” Drascon retorted.

“Do not speak to me of loyalty,” Kai spat with vehemence. “I was ever loyal to the king. I would have done anything – given anything – to carry out his will. But, Caydean killed him to usurp his throne. He just could not wait to claim the power for his own.”

“What do you know of the king’s business? You have no proof of your accusations,” Drascon argued.

“I know because I was there,” Kai gritted out through clenched teeth. “I was in the palace that night. I was the first to respond to the call and the first to find Bordran dead. Caydean was there, as well. He did not even make an effort to hide his glee and satisfaction. Caydean had always been cruel to his brother, but after Bordran’s death no one could stop him from focusing all his demented attention on the prince. I know because I was given orders to carry out some of his sick schemes. That is what led me here.” The gruff man sighed as though all of his energy had just fled. He sunk back into the chair and buried his head in his hands.

“What happened, Kai?” Rezkin prompted.

The man looked up at his new liege and replied, “I could not do it, anymore. Prince Thresson was a decent young man. He was a bit shy and too timid for a prince, but I suppose it served him well when they were younger and Thresson could avoid notice. The prince did not deserve his brother’s ire, and he certainly did not deserve to suffer at his hands – at my hands. Eventually, something happened, and it was just too much. I left. I took a horse and supplies, and I simply left. I abandoned my post. I abandoned my prince.”

Staring off into nothing, Kai continued, “I spent my days contemplating a solution. How could I help Prince Thresson? What could I do? Any actions I might take would be considered treason, an act against the king. Well, a couple of months ago, when I heard the prince went missing, it broke me. I should never have left him. If I had been there, I might have caught on to whatever scheme had been concocted, maybe even been given the orders to carry it out myself. I could have spirited the prince away – hidden him somewhere safe. But, no, I was out here in the woods stewing in my own misery.

“After that, I fell into the bottle and really did not care to get out. I knew the king would send someone after me eventually. It was only a matter of time before I paid for my failures. But, then, tonight happened. I was sitting in the tavern drinking as usual. I got up to relieve myself when I heard sobbing coming from a back storage room. I followed the sound to find a girl, no more than thirteen or fourteen years old, crying and bleeding on the floor. The girl told me that piece of scum, Preson Quey, had raped her. She was the kind of innocent girl that would have no reason to lie about such a thing. I knew she spoke truth.”

“So you went to kill him?” Captain Jimson accused.

“No, I wanted to, I did, but that was not my intent. I was so furious that I immediately went to confront him. That was my first mistake. I should have sobered up first. Anyway, I told that bastard that I was taking him into custody, and he was going to be tried in Port Manai where his father’s influence could not help him. Well, I was so drunk I did not notice the guards coming up behind me. Before I even knew what hit me, I was lying on the ground getting my guts pulverized while that sniveling wretch stood back and laughed.

“When Preson thought I was as good as dead, he came over with this fancy dagger in his hand. It was one of those with jewels and gold like a lady might wear with a gown on an outing. I guess he wanted to do the honors himself. Just as he leaned down to slice open my throat, I gathered my strength and plunged my dagger into his chest. I was actually just lucky it hit his heart, because I was not really cognizant enough to aim at the time.”

“By what right do you take a man into custody?” Captain Jimson inquired.

“Have you not figured it out, yet, Captain? Rezkin, here, knew the moment he saw me, although I still do not know exactly what he is – besides my king, of course,” Kai finished with a grin.

Jimson sighed, “Kai, just state it for the record.”

“Very well. I am a striker, formerly in the service of the false King Caydean,” Kai replied with another grin.

“Wait. You are a striker?” Drascon asked with disbelief. The lieutenant immediately jerked to attention and saluted the striker.

“Drascon, you no longer have to salute the man. He is no longer in service of the king. He is now a vassal of whatever Rezkin’s kingdom is called,” Jimson remarked facetiously.

“Oh, no, Captain, you misunderstand. I am in service of the Kingdom of Ashai and its rightful king. Rezkin is the King of Ashai, while Caydean is the false king,” Kai explained.

“We will have to agree to disagree,” Jimson replied.

“Let me ask you this, Captain, Lieutenant,” Kai said nodding to each of them. “If you are suddenly given the legal opportunity to choose between two kings, both of whom have claim to the throne, would you choose the evil tyrant who killed his own father and tortured and probably killed his brother just for power, or would you choose the truly noble warrior who stands up for justice and, given the choice, would turn down the offer of power?”

Jimson’s eyes sought his friend. Rezkin met the captain’s gaze unflinchingly. Jimson knew Rezkin did not want to be a king. It was true that Rezkin made an art of manipulation to get people to do as he needed, but he never did so cruelly or for any personal gain, as far as Jimson could tell. When it was a matter of honor, Rezkin put aside his manipulations like he had with the general regarding Frisha. In truth, Rezkin never needed to go to so much trouble with manipulating people. As a Sword Bearer, he could simply order them to do as he wished. He had the authority to issue the orders and the skills to ensure they were followed. Quite simply, Rezkin did not seek power; but then again, a man has little need to seek power when he has it already. Except, that had not stopped Caydean from doing so.

Rezkin saved Jimson from answering the striker’s question. “I doubt that was King Bordran’s intent,” he stated as all eyes turned to him. “I will concede that he may have intended for me to wrest control of the kingdom from Caydean; but if that was the case, then it was most likely to be on behalf of Prince Thresson. I do not think Bordran would allow the throne to slip from his family’s grasp. His blood has sat on the throne since the founding of Ashai.”

“Prince Thresson is dead,” Kai snapped.

“You do not know that,” Rezkin countered. “Perhaps you were not the only one who was uncomfortable with Caydean’s treatment of his brother. It is possible the prince was spirited away, and he truly is missing.”

“Bah,” Kai scoffed. “You did not know Prince Thresson. He was no king. He was a good man, but he was weak and timid. If he were to take the throne, he would become merely a puppet to someone with ambition. As I said before, King Bordran knew his sons’ worth, and he knew neither was fit to wear the crown. More than likely, had he lived longer, he would have attempted to produce another heir.”

“I thought Queen Lecillia could no longer bear children after the last one,” Jimson remarked.

“Oh, that is the truth. Bordran loved Queen Lecillia, he truly did,” Kai answered. “That would not have stopped him from doing what was best for the kingdom, though. I thought it only a matter of time before he put Lecillia aside on the grounds that she could no longer perform her duty as queen by bearing royal children.”

Drascon protested, “The Council would never have approved the measure. King Bordran already had two heirs.”

“Perhaps,” Kai replied. “But those on the Council knew the princes as well as any, and they would have had concerns of their own.”

“I disagree,” said Jimson. “If Bordran intended to produce another heir, he would have done so before the princes were grown and old enough to understand their father’s machinations. As it was, both were grown men who would have known what the king was up to if he had put aside the queen.”

“Yes, you may be correct,” Kai acceded. “It was folly on Bordran’s part to wait so long. Bordran would have had a backup plan, though,” he said as he looked pointedly at Rezkin.

“Rezkin, how did you know King Bordran?” Wesson asked with curiosity.

“I did not. I never met the man,” Rezkin answered.

Wesson shook his head and replied, “You had to have met him at some point. In order for him to design those aura-reading enchantments he would have had to know your aura very well. He would need to be very close to you for quite some time, within a few feet at least, probably touching considering their strength. You do not remember meeting the king?”

“No,” Rezkin admitted, “but there were times when men I did not know came to my home. It is possible I simply did not know who he was if he visited. I do not recall being that close to any of them, though. Perhaps if I was unconscious?” Rezkin shook the thought away and said, “It is late. We depart early in the morning, and Kai has an appointment with the baron.” Rezkin held Kai’s gaze as he firmly stated, “You have sworn an oath to me, and regardless of my lack of desire to have it, I will hold you to it. I do not take oaths lightly.”

“Nor do I give them lightly,” Kai replied.

“Very well,” said Rezkin. “We are leaving Teurning. Do you have any possessions you need to retrieve?”

“I do. I rented a room not far from here. I can retrieve them in the morning, assuming they are still there,” Kai explained.

Rezkin met the eyes of each man present and said, “I trust I do not have to remind you that everything said in this room is to be kept between us?”

After receiving assurances from all present that they would not speak of anything that had been discussed, the two soldiers departed for their own room. Rezkin knew he would not be sleeping that night with two strangers in his room. He had other tasks to complete, anyhow.

“Journeyman, you are capable of constructing wards?” Rezkin asked.

“Yes, my lord…ah…sir,” Wesson stammered. “I can construct all of the basic wards, but most of the complex protective wards elude me – the kind that use subtle magic to discourage others from attempting to breach them or convince the mind that they do not exist. My strongest wards tend to be…aggressive. When they are tampered with, they explode or cause other painful or deadly effects.”

Rezkin raised a brow. “But, you can control the effects? They are not random and unpredictable?”

“Oh, no! They do exactly what I create them to do,” Wesson reassured. “And, I am not sure if it is relevant, but I can disable almost any ward, as well. It is a destructive process, after all,” he said almost sheepishly.

“Yes, that is good to know. Can you create a ward with the aura reading capability?” Rezkin inquired.

Wesson shuffled his feet uncertainly. “Yes, but I have only done so using my own aura. I would have to be very familiar with a person’s aura in order to create one for another.”

“What would you need?” Rezkin asked.

“Well, I studied with my master for over ten years, and I might be able to create one for him from memory. If you wanted one for yourself right now, I may be able to do so if we were in physical contact at the time of construction,” Wesson explained.

“How long does it take to construct such a ward?” Rezkin asked.

“It depends on the size of the ward, the complexity, and the desired result. If you are protecting against other mages, it must be much more complex than if you are protecting against mundanes. Since I have a natural affinity for destructive magic, it would actually take me a little more time to reign in the effects if you do not want the results to be fatal or messy.”

“You are saying it takes you less time to blow someone up?” Kai asked with a chuckle.

The young mage shuffled his feet uncomfortably and said, “Yes.”

“Very well. I would like for you to ward this room so that no one can enter or leave except for you and me,” Rezkin stated. “You would be warding against mundanes, and I do not want it to have serious side effects if someone were to attempt to enter. I would not want one of our companions to become…damaged.”

“Yes, well, that would be simple enough, except for the aura reading part. A simple ward would do. It would merely block anyone else from entering, as if it were a solid wall. The construction would only take a few minutes, assuming I can get the aura reading for you correct.”

“What about me?” Kai asked.

Rezkin raised a brow and remarked, “You are the prisoner.”

Kai huffed. “I thought we were past that.”

“Not until the baron rules on your case,” Rezkin replied.

“We are still going through with that?” Kai grumped.

“We are. Journeyman, please construct the ward,” Rezkin ordered as he held out his arm.

Wesson quickly shuffled forward and anxiously grasped the warrior’s wrist. The young mage did not know what to make of the strange man that was his new employer. The man was a plethora of contradictions. He claimed no desire for power, but he was willing to use it when it suited him. At times, he was frightening and unmistakably deadly, while at others he was patient and understanding. So far, Wesson had only known Rezkin for half a day, and already the man was a dichotomy of commanding warrior and compassionate healer. His demeanor seemed to be at odds with his personality, almost as if he were two different people. Wesson had the feeling that he was standing on a point of divergence. Exciting and potentially explosive events were coming, and Rezkin was the catalyst.

Chapter 7

After the mage set the ward on their room, Rezkin retrieved his pack that contained his usual items and headed into the night. It was very late, and the inn was already locked up tight, but Rezkin had ways around that. The warrior exited through a window in the hallway and eventually climbed to the roof of a building a few blocks from the inn. Hidden in the shadows of an eave, he exchanged his dress clothes for his dark stealth gear. His longsword would be more of a hindrance than help for what he had planned, so he wrapped the sword and scabbard in a ragged cloth and tied it to his pack. He moved his shortsword to a harness across his back so it would not interfere with his movements and applied a dark paste to the silver crossguard and pommel to prevent reflection.

He knew the general layout of the city from his studies, but he still was uncertain as to his exact destination. First, he had to break into the courthouse, which was actually only a couple of small rooms on one side of City Hall. A short wall of only eight feet surrounded the building, and Rezkin saw no guards other than the two stationed at the front gate and two others who stayed together and seemed to roam the grounds randomly. Rezkin slipped over the wall effortlessly and silently stole across the manicured lawn.

The first floor windows were latched, but a fine wire and hook provided entry. Rezkin hefted himself through the opening and closed the window behind him. He padded lightly across the wooden beams, eliciting only the slightest creak that sounded like a trumpet blast to Rezkin’s ears but probably could not have been heard from a few feet away. He did not have the floor plan of this building memorized, so he would have to scout around for the office he needed. Finding the courthouse turned out to be easy enough. Outside the door stood two life-sized statues of Gorova and Munera, the mythical fae beings that symbolized truth and justice. They were always depicted as tall, lanky, effeminate males with long, fine hair, pointed ears much longer than those of elves, and overlarge, tilted eyes that looked like mystical orbs. The two were supposed to be either brothers or lovers, the legends were never really clear.

Rezkin had always considered it ironic that those two were used as icons for the court system. Munera was a rational being that believed in strict adherence to laws and regulations and maintained a conviction of no tolerance. Gorova argued for compassion and mercy with hope of redemption for the wicked. For untold years, the two men argued over the fates of those who were found guilty. This was the reason for the use of the two as symbols for Ashaiian justice.

The part that the general public tended to overlook was the fact that the companions eventually turned on each other. Munera decided that Gorova’s pleas for mercy perpetuated the commission of more crimes, and as such, Gorova was complicit in those crimes. Gorova, on the other hand, decided that Munera’s unflinching demands were cruel and heartless and that he was responsible for the executions of many people who did not need to die. Ultimately, the two killed each other.

Rezkin slipped through the small courtroom, which held only large, bulky tables and chairs and nothing of interest. The office was at the rear, the door cracked slightly ajar with warm, yellow light spilling through the slit. Two male voices could be heard arguing in hushed tones. The young warrior silently drew closer until he heard the words clearly.

“I told you, it needs to be disposed of before someone else finds it!” one deep voice hissed.

“We should not be here! If someone finds us, it will draw suspicion,” the second argued.

“Nobody is going to find us unless you keep blathering,” the first responded.

“We can still salvage this,” the second argued. “It was that lord that caused this mess. If we discredit him, then the baron will have to reinstate you.”

“And how do you propose we do that?” the first inquired.

“Well, obviously, he must die. We simply have him killed and position his body in a compromising position,” the second remarked.

The first asked with less hostility, “Like what?”

“Well…nobody knows what happened with the tavern wench except that damned Kai. One of ours got to her after he left. A few threats and some gold and she will not be talking. Anyone looking at her can see what she went through, through. We could put Lord Rezkin with her and make it look like he raped and murdered the girl,” the second explained.

“Yes, of course, we would have to kill them both. What of his companions?” asked the first.

“What of them? A few lords and a couple of soldiers can hardly argue against the facts once his body is found,” the second argued.

“What if they do not believe the scene? What if they know it is a setup?” the first asked.

“How would they know that? You know these noble types. They are always dallying with the common girls since their snooty women are too good to put out. More importantly, they worry more about their public images. Those pompous twits will probably deny they even knew the man once word gets out.”

“Your plan includes a frightening number of assumptions and ‘probably-s,’ ” the first remarked.

“Would you rather that insolent bastard, Rezkin, walk around getting his way while you make a run for it?” the second barked a little too loudly.

“Ssshhhh!” the first hissed. “What I think is that both of us will be lucky to get out of here with our heads if we do not get the book before someone finds us. And, I agree that Lord Rezkin needs to die, but it is unlikely to happen since he is leaving on the first ship in the morning.”

“Then we had best hurry. It must be done tonight,” the second argued.

“Fine, but we will not pull any more schemes. We can have the men make it look like an accident or robbery or something. We both need to get out of this city before someone starts looking into our other affairs,” the first demanded.

“I am not leaving. If we leave, people will immediately suspect something and start digging,” the second contended.

“Lord Rezkin leaves in the morning or he dies tonight. It does not matter either way, because he will be out of the way. You can stay and play mayor, but I am leaving. It will not appear suspicious if I leave after I was humiliated and lost my post. The only thing linking us to any crimes is that book, so get out of my way!” the first voice commanded.

The shuffling of feet indicated the men were now moving. Rezkin slipped closer until he could peer through the crack near the hinges of the door. He had already figured the arguing men were the magistrate and the mayor. Now, he was waiting for them to retrieve the essential book of which the magistrate spoke so he would not have to hunt for it.

“Is that it?” the second voice, which Rezkin now knew to be the mayor, asked.

“Yes, of course,” the magistrate replied.

“Just burn it and be done with it,” Mayor Quey demanded.

“You do not want to know of the outstanding debts yet to be collected?” the magistrate inquired.

After a moment of contemplation, the mayor replied, “No, it is too risky now. Get rid of it.”

Rezkin chose that moment to intercede. He pushed the door open and stepped into the room as he said, “I am afraid I cannot allow you to do that.” Both men froze and stared as if they had forgotten how to move. Rezkin closed the door casually and jammed the lock so that neither man could escape while he was preoccupied.

“Wh-What are you doing here?” Magistrate Jiruthis sneered.

“It seems I am preventing you from destroying evidence,” Rezkin replied.

“What are you talking about?” Quey shouted. Rezkin raised a brow, and Jiruthis scowled.

“Shut up, Quey! The guards will hear,” the magistrate scolded.

“Not that it matters now that he is here,” the mayor grumbled.

“Of course it matters! Since he came to us, our plan will be that much easier to implement.” He lowered his voice and spoke sideways out of his mouth, “There are two of us and only one of him.”

Rezkin cocked his head. Did the man really think he could not hear? The entire building was silent as death, save for these two imbeciles. Rezkin leaned casually against the door as the two argued back and forth, plotting his death right in front of him.

“He is a Sword Bearer! That means he must be a Master, and we have what? A couple of belt daggers?” the mayor argued.

“He is not even carrying his Sheyalin. That sword on his back is much too short,” the magistrate argued.

“Sheyalin or not, he is still a Master, and I am sure he knows how to use it,” Quey asserted.

At once, both men realized their folly and turned to stare at Rezkin. Deciding it must be his turn to speak, Rezkin just nodded. “Yes, I am well acquainted with this blade,” he said as he drew the Sheyalin from its sheath. The small lantern gave off barely enough light to illuminate the room, but the blue swirls glinted like silvery blue fish swimming beneath the surface of a crystal stream. “This is my other Sheyalin, Bladesunder. I apologize that I neglected to introduce you earlier when you met Kingslayer.”

Jiruthis gulped audibly and said, “Are you going to kill us?”

Rezkin frowned and appeared conflicted as he replied, “I had originally intended to simply turn you in for whatever nefarious schemes you have recorded in that book; but since I witnessed you plotting not only my death but that of the poor girl Quey’s son raped, I think I may have changed my mind.”

The men exchanged worried glances. Mayor Quey’s face turned pallid and broke into a cold sweat. Jiruthis licked his lips as he eyed the sword and said, “So, what will you do to us?”

Rezkin looked down at the sword in his hand as though just realizing he held it and shook his head. “Oh, no, this will not do,” he remarked as he slid the blade back into the scabbard on his back. “You see, the guards are going to find the two of you in a few hours, and they are going to believe that you managed to kill each other. People will assume that Mayor Quey was angry with you for not hanging his son’s killer, and you defended yourself. Some might argue that you were angry with Quey for pressuring you into that farce of a trial that lost you your position. I can assure you, though, that no one will ever consider the fact that I was somehow involved.”

“Y-You expect us to kill each other?” Quey stammered.

Rezkin raised a brow. “Well, that would make my job much easier, but I doubt you will be so accommodating. Or am I wrong?” Rezkin queried, looking to both men as if genuinely in need of clarification. He received two scowls in return. “No, I thought not. I will make it look like the two of you killed each other. Unfortunately, neither of you look to have the Skills to kill efficiently, so I will have to rough you up a bit, and the killing blows might get a bit messy,” he stated as if in afterthought.

Mayor Quey scoffed, “You think we are going to stand here while you beat us to death?”

“Actually, I hope you will fight back. It will make the damage look much more believable. We need to give the impression of a struggle, after all,” Rezkin explained.

“I am not going to stand here and listen to you discussing our deaths like you are setting up a play,” the mayor sputtered.

Rezkin cocked his head and said, “I think you are missing the point, Mayor Quey. You are about to die, and there is nothing you can do about it.” The mayor’s eyes widened, and his mouth dropped.

Jiruthis had other ideas. “What do you want? You want money?”

“What makes you think I can be bought?” Rezkin inquired.

“You would not be standing here discussing this so casually if you truly wanted to kill us. You want something from us,” the man asserted with a dark grin.

“You are right about the last part, at least. I do want something from you,” Rezkin replied.

“And what is that?” Jiruthis inquired.

Rezkin shrugged indifferently and replied, “I want you to die.”

In the blink of an eye, Rezkin was across the room standing before the magistrate. His fists flew quickly on a planned path across the man’s face and torso. He pulled his punches enough that the man would not completely lose his faculties. Rezkin paused a moment to allow the magistrate to collect himself. The man threw a punch, which Rezkin blocked with his forearm. Jiruthis’s knuckles impacted the bracer and dagger strapped to the warrior’s arm and split open. Satisfied that Jiruthis now had at least one offensive wound, Rezkin grabbed a metal decanter off the desk and smashed it into the former magistrate’s head with enough strength to split the man’s skull. The entire interaction was over in mere moments.

The mayor stood in shock near the door. He yanked with all his might on the handle, but the door would not budge. Rezkin’s icy gaze was filled with an unnatural darkness as he stared at his prey. “I would prefer you stand over here,” he said. “Where you are now just will not do.”

“W-Why are you doing this?” the mayor whimpered as he plastered his back to the treasonous door.

“You plotted to kill me. You would have killed the tavern girl. I am certain that when I look in that book I will find many more deaths on your hands,” Rezkin replied tonelessly.

“B-but why all this? Why not just kill me quickly?” the mayor sputtered.

Rezkin cocked his head and asked, “Did your victims die quickly?”

Quey whimpered as he slid to the floor. Rezkin frowned. “You are a large man, Quey. I do not want to have to move you. You are in the wrong place.”

“Y-You w-w-want me t-to go over there just s-so you can k-k-kill me!” Quey stammered in a panic.

“Of course, Quey. This is your execution,” Rezkin stated coldly. “Did most of your victims not walk to their own deaths upon the gallows?”

“Th-That was different! They were found guilty!” Quey whined.

“I find you guilty, Tanning Quey. Now, get up and walk over here, or I will make you, and it will be needlessly painful,” Rezkin ordered as he drew his stiletto and twirled it around his fingers in the lantern light. He had found that, for some reason, stilettos were always more intimidating than a normal dagger. At least, that had been his experience with those he had tortured under his masters’ supervision. Torture had been one of the Skills Rezkin found most distasteful, but he recognized the occasional need. It was really only useful, though, for gaining information that could be confirmed, since people will say anything to escape the pain. The simple threat of torture worked on the mayor, though. He shook and cried as he crawled on hands and knees across the floor to kneel at Rezkin’s feet.

Looking up at Rezkin imploringly, he begged, “P-P-Please, you do not have to do this!”

Rezkin smiled cruelly for effect. In truth, he felt nothing for the man’s sniveling or for the deaths. He did have a small sense of satisfaction over ridding the city of these filthy predators. These were some of the worst kind.

“No, you are correct. I do not have to do this, just like you did not have to kill your victims. But, I am going to do it anyway, just like you,” Rezkin replied, “except that your victims were innocent, while you are a murderer. But, I will make you a deal. If you can land one hit to my face, I will let you live.”

The idea was absurd, but the desperate man clung to the slightest hope. The portly mayor dragged himself to his feet and then swung at Rezkin. Rezkin blocked as he had with the magistrate, but the mayor was not so easily deterred. He swung again with his other fist. After several attempts, Rezkin decided the man’s knuckles were sufficiently split and bloodied. Rezkin punched the mayor in the face hard enough to make him stagger.

The warrior examined the facial wound. Satisfied, he drew the dagger from Quey’s belt. The man had not even thought to draw it in self-defense. Rezkin decided neither of these men had a very strong survival instinct. Rezkin propped the magistrate across the desk and then yanked the dazed mayor back into position. Standing aside, Rezkin drove the dagger into the man’s chest. Blood sprayed over the body of the magistrate and across the desk as Quey gasped and clutched at the hilt. Jiruthis’s bloody body slid to the floor. Rezkin’s strike was slightly off, as planned, so the mayor did not die instantly. The man teetered and staggered and then stumbled toward the door before he fell face down on the floorboards. Rezkin walked around the scene observing with a critical eye. He dabbed a bit of blood across Jiruthis’s hand so it looked like he had been holding the dagger when it plunged into the mayor’s chest.

An outsider would interpret the scene as though the mayor and former magistrate were involved in a struggle. Jiruthis got one good hit on the mayor, and then Quey pummeled the magistrate. Quey backed the magistrate over his desk, at which point Jiruthis drew Quey’s knife from his belt and stabbed the mayor in the chest. The mayor grabbed the decanter and smashed the magistrate in the head before stumbling toward the door and dropping dead. No evidence could be gleaned of Rezkin’s presence.

Rezkin shook his head. The scene had only been easy to set up because both of the men were so inept. If either of them had bothered to practice any of the Skills it would have been much more difficult for Rezkin. The young warrior had considered turning the men in for an official trial, but he wanted to make sure things were done right. He did not want either of them using their pull to escape justice. The young warrior collected the book and rifled through a number of papers on the desk before clearing the lock and leaving the room.

Rezkin really wanted to investigate some of the guards, but he did not have the time. He considered that maybe some of their information would be found in the book, and he could come back at a later date to deal with them. The warrior moved through the darkness until he reached the building where he stowed his gear. He climbed to the roof and changed his clothing. Although he had checked himself over for blood spatter before leaving the office, he could not be sure of his face since he did not have a mirror at the time. The young warrior kept a small mirror for such purposes and for signaling in his pack, but there was not yet enough light to use it. He wiped a damp cloth over his face and neck and combed his hair before once again tying it back into a queue. He then laid back on his pack and rested his eyes for an hour before he had to return to the inn.

Chapter 8

Kai noted Rezkin’s arrival in the room as the sky began to lighten just before dawn. From out in the corridor, Rezkin swept the bar from the door with practiced skill and such force that the dagger Kai had jammed over the bar spun end over end into the air. The young man slipped in and caught the dagger effortlessly before closing and barring the door once again. He quietly stuck the dagger back into the hole Kai originally made.

“Done that a few times, have you?” Kai grumbled quietly so as not to wake the mage.

Rezkin grunted and remarked, “Everyone needs a hobby.” It was a phrase he had heard Tam mutter a few times with regard to his occasional whittling.

The warrior made his way to his bed and tugged his second, smaller bag off the floor. Rezkin went through his normal ablutions – well, as normal as they were for Lord Rezkin. He stepped behind a dressing screen that stood in the corner, not for any sense of modesty but so that the locations and number of weapons he carried were concealed. He donned dark brown breeches, a fresh white shirt, and a doublet of emerald green silk with dark brown and beige embroidery. His hair was braided in the manner common with the nobles and tied off with a gold silk ribbon. Stepping from behind the screen, he pulled on his polished knee high boots and began repacking his belongings.

Kai had already risen and dumped the used wash water from the basin out the window into the alley. The older man refilled the basin and set about washing as much of the blood, dirt, and grime from his face and body as he could with such a small basin. Rezkin strode over and placed his shaving kit on the table. Kai dumped the filthy water again and used a bit of fresh water to address his facial hair. He did not remove it completely, but rather cleaned it up until it resembled a respectable beard. Rezkin tossed the man a clean, white shirt. Kai grunted as he noted the sleeves were slightly long, since Rezkin was a bit taller with a longer reach.

When they were finished dressing, both men turned their eyes to the sleeping mage. The man slept like the dead. They shook their heads. Journeyman Wesson would have to learn to sleep lighter. Rezkin approached to wake the mage but paused a few feet away when he felt a tingling crawl down his spine. Maybe the mage has survival instincts after all, he thought.

“Mage,” he barked loudly. “It is time to wake. Dawn approaches.” The journeyman still did not stir.

Kai strode over with a grin and said, “I will show you how this is done.”

Rezkin grabbed the man’s shoulder and held him back. “Go no further,” he said. The young warrior looked around and spied a dinner roll on the tray left the previous night. The roll was hard, now, and perfect for waking slumbering mages. He lobbed the roll at the journeyman’s head.

Wesson immediately woke and sat up with a start. Something had struck him in the head. Or…he thought something had. Maybe it had been the dream. He blinked a few times to clear the sleep and then noticed the two rather large, imposing men staring at him. Kai’s hairy face split into a massive grin.

“Did you throw something at me?” the mage asked in disbelief.

The older man shook his head and stuck a thumb at Rezkin. Rezkin said, “It is time to wake. First light will be here soon.” Frowning, he said, “This is an ineffective shield if it will allow people to throw projectiles at you. What if it had been a knife?”

Confusion crossed the mage’s face before he replied, “Oh, well, it works on intent. I assume you did not intend to injure me with…” he looked around and found the hardened bread, “…a roll?”

“Why would you design it in such a way?” Rezkin queried.

“It takes less energy to maintain while I am sleeping,” Wesson explained.

“And if I intended to wake you with a crossbow bolt?” Rezkin asked.

“The spell would hold. It would read your true intent to cause me harm,” the mage replied as he ran a hand over his face in an attempt to wipe away his grogginess.

“What if I was firing at Kai and missed?” Rezkin inquired.

“Oh, well, then I would be having a very bad day,” Wesson conceded.

“Get dressed and packed,” Rezkin demanded. “We will return within half a mark. Kai has an appointment with the baron. The others are usually punctual, but you might check on them as well. Some of us had a late night.”

Kai grunted. “Some more than others,” he muttered under his breath.

“Wait!” Wesson called, but the men were already gone. One of his questions had been answered, but it only opened up a dozen more. He sighed and pulled himself from the bed.

When Rezkin and Kai entered the common room, Captain Jimson and Lieutenant Drascon were already waiting. They all agreed to break their fast after the proceedings, so they headed to the inn where the Baron was staying. When they arrived, the baron’s son, Waylen, was partaking of his own breakfast with a couple of guards in the baron’s service. Waylen stood and greeted the party.

“I will go tell my father you are here,” the young man said and then hurried from the room.

The guards nodded greetings to the soldiers and saluted Rezkin with a “my lord” as they eyed the prisoner suspiciously. Only one other patron graced the common room, and he was taking his meal in the corner near the front window. He glanced their way occasionally, but otherwise seemed fit to stay out of whatever business was going on with the soldiers. Only a few moments passed before the baron descended the stairs with Waylen on his heals.

“Ah, Lord Rezkin,” the baron greeted, “good day to you. Captain, Lieutenant.” He nodded to each of the men in greeting. Both soldiers saluted and bowed slightly. “I apologize for the delay, but it has been an…interesting morning. We can get to that later, though. I trust you have come for the impromptu trial you requested.”

“Yes,” Rezkin replied. “And, good day to you, Lord Nasque. I do not expect this to take long. On behalf of the accused,” he nodded toward Kai, “I request that all charges be dropped.”

“Dropped?” the baron asked in surprise. “This must be interesting, indeed, if charges against the man who killed the mayor’s son are to be dropped.”

“Yes, but first allow me to properly introduce the accused.” Rezkin held a hand toward the prisoner and said, “This is Striker Zankai Colguerun Tresdian, servant of the king.” Eyes widened and jaws dropped all around.

“Striker?” the baron repeated.

Kai bowed slightly in greeting and replied, “Yes, Lord Nasque, that I am.”

The baron grumbled as he motioned to a table set with several chairs. “This sounds like a story I should like to hear. Please, let us sit.” The men settled at the table, but Waylen stood a few feet back from his father’s seat, looking on with wide-eyed interest.

“I am afraid there is nothing you will like about this tale, Lord Nasque,” Kai informed. “You see, I have been on a sort of personal sabbatical from my duties, and I was sitting in the Winding Vine having had a bit too much ale…” Kai said as he continued the story. All of the men’s faces turned dark when they heard of what Preson Quey had done to the tavern girl. Their anger was only aggravated when they learned of Kai’s confrontation with the man and the subsequent beating and trial.

“Why did you not mention you were a striker last night?” the baron asked.

“Oh, I did, to Preson. But as I said, I took a few kicks to the head and was dragged through the streets by my throat. Speaking and producing coherent thoughts was a little beyond me at the time of the so-called trial. Besides, neither the magistrate nor the mayor were exactly in a listening mood,” Kai remarked. “If Lord Rezkin had not intervened, I would have been buried or thrown to the wolves by now.”

“You knew he was a striker?” the baron questioned.

“I recognized him for what he was, but I would have intervened in that farce of a trial regardless. I must say I worry for the safety of the tavern girl. I fear the magistrate and mayor may have designs on revenge,” Rezkin remarked with concern and compassion written across his face.

“Then, you have not heard?” the baron asked. “No, you would not have. Jiruthis and Quey were both found dead only about an hour ago.”

“Dead? Someone killed them?” Kai asked in surprise. He pointedly did not glance at his new liege.

“No, no,” Lord Nasque replied. “I had some of my own men examine the scene once I was informed. It is pretty clear that they killed each other.” The two guards at the table nodded solemnly, and Rezkin assumed these were the two that had investigated.

“With this news, I think it is safe to assume they got into a row over the scandal incited by Preson Quey and the magistrate’s subsequent removal from office. It ended badly for both of them.”

“Well, I, for one, will admit to feeling no sorrow for their passing. They defended a child rapist while sentencing an innocent man to death,” Rezkin announced vehemently. “My only disappointment is that they will not be tried, flogged and hanged publicly. They should have had to endure the same treatment as did that poor girl and the striker.”

The baron nodded and said, “While I admire your passion and sense of justice, Lord Rezkin, there is nothing to be done for it now. I will have announcements made clearing the striker of any wrongdoing. The chargers are dropped, of course. The truth will be known, except for the identity of the girl. Where there is one occurrence of such an abuse of the legal system, there are sure to be more. If the truth is revealed, people are more likely to come forward. It saddens me to think of how much damage those two could have caused over the years.”

“Lord Rezkin,” the baron said with a change of tone as he focused on the young man. “I must thank you for bringing this matter to light. It is not an easy thing to stand up to an angry mob and men of authority. I realize you hold your own noble authority superior to theirs, but not every man is willing or able to withstand such confrontation. You did so not even knowing if the man for whom you spoke was innocent or guilty.”

“Thank you, Baron, for saying so, but your thanks is not necessary. That the truth was revealed and an innocent man saved was enough,” Rezkin replied graciously.

“Oh, but your actions show a strength of character not often seen these days,” the baron remarked. “I think it is safe to assume this was not an isolated incident, since you seem to have garnered the respect of both the Jebais and Tieran Nirius – not an easy feat, that one.” The baron rubbed his jaw as his eyes looked distantly into the past. “If I remember correctly, that boy was somewhat of a terror in his youth – or perhaps not even that long ago, from the rumors I hear.” He grinned sheepishly and said, “I would appreciate you not telling him I said so, though.”

Rezkin laughed freely and remarked, “My first meeting with the duke’s son was volatile, for certain. It began with him insulting my Girl Friend and ended with me promising to kill him if he did not make amends.”

The baron’s eyes widened as he exclaimed, “You threatened to kill the duke’s heir? How did that go for you?”

Rezkin smiled and said, “He apologized, of course.”

Lord Nasque’s brows drew together, and he shook his head in disbelief. “Well, he seems to consider you a friend, now.”

The warrior shrugged. “Perhaps. If our business here is done, then, we shall go. Kai will be traveling with us, and he needs to collect his things. We must also collect our companions and depart. I believe the sun has just risen.”

“So it has,” the baron agreed. “We will see you at the docks.”

After the men left the inn, Kai assured Rezkin that he could collect his belongings on his own and find his way to the docks.

“No, Kai. Your innocence has yet to be made known to the public, and there may still be those who seek revenge. I will accompany you,” Rezkin argued. “The captain and lieutenant may return to the inn.”

Jimson chuckled, “Between the two of you, I think you can handle anything that might occur. We will make sure the others are ready to leave on time.”

The room Kai rented was not far, and the two were able to collect the man’s belongings with little more than a few angry or uneasy stares and furtive whispers. They found themselves back at the inn with just enough time to grab a quick bite to eat and collect their belongings. The others were gathered in the common room when they descended the stairs.

Tam, Frisha and Millins watched Kai curiously. Reaylin seemed surprised to see the man up and moving around in such good health. She smiled slightly to herself, but when she realized Rezkin had witnessed the look, she scowled and turned away.

“Kai, allow me to introduce Lady Frisha, Master Tam and Sergeant Millins. You already know Reaylin,” Rezkin stated. Motioning to the older man, he continued, “This is Striker Zankai Tresdian.”

Tam’s mouth dropped open, and Frisha’s lips pursed in an ‘o’ with surprise. Kai laughed merrily and said, “Please, just call me Kai. It is a pleasure to meet you. Lady Frisha, you must be the girlfriend of whom Rezkin speaks so highly.”

Frisha blushed and glanced at Rezkin whose face was unreadable. “Um, yes. It is a pleasure to meet you, Kai. I assume the business with um…you know…ah…the magistrate has been concluded?” she asked tentatively.

Kai chuckled, “The magistrate is dead and I am free, so, yes, I would say it is concluded.”

Frisha and Tam were alarmed, and their worried eyes found Rezkin. He shrugged and said, “The baron informed us that the magistrate and mayor killed each other during a row sometime in the night. He also dropped the charges against Kai since he was fully within his rights as a striker, but that is a long story we may go into later. It is time we head to the docks.”

The group arrived at the docks before any of the nobles. Rezkin made arrangements with the captain to take on the mage and striker. No more passenger cabins were available, so the men would either have to share with the crew or extra beds would have to be squeezed into the berths the passengers already shared. The men opted for the latter. When Tieran, the Jebais, and Brandt arrived, they were astonished to find out that Kai was actually a striker. Palis immediately insisted the man share the room with him and Brandt, no doubt in hopes of pelting the older man with questions. Surprisingly, Tieran offered to share with Wesson. He was still utterly impressed that Rezkin had procured a battle mage for himself. It turned out that the duke’s son had a secret fascination with battle magic.

Sadly, Wesson had to sell his donkey, Shiela, back in the town. Despite the healing, the donkey was nearing the end of her days and could no longer carry the weight of the mage’s packs for long distances. The journeyman had known the time was coming, but he had not had the funds to procure a new beast. Now that the group was traveling by ship, he would not need a new pack animal for some time. Thanks to Rezkin, he had the money to purchase one when needed.

The final passengers to arrive were the baron and his son, along with their guards. Their berths had already been reserved, so no extra accommodations were necessary. The baron was more forthright than most nobles Rezkin had met and did not seem to care much for all the pomp. Being of the lowest landed nobility, though, the baron’s concern for the opinions of his superiors was evident in his demeanor. Even though the young people aboard were merely the heirs and not the heads, he had to consider the fact that they would eventually become the heads of their Houses, if not in his lifetime then in his son’s.

Waylen Nasque was unobtrusive and alert. He stood back and observed everything around him with childlike intrigue but said little. When someone did speak to him, he turned almost bashful, and his answers were quiet and reserved. In truth, these were probably the most affluent individuals the seventeen-year-old had ever encountered. He stared openly as if he expected no one to notice, and perhaps few people did take note of him with his quiet demeanor. He at least made an effort, though, to conceal his admiring glances toward the women.

Every expression could be easily read on the young man’s innocent face. His eyes glinted with admiration for the higher-ranking young men, his face blushed with appreciation and embarrassment toward the women, and he was utterly fascinated by the striker and mage. When Waylen looked at Rezkin, though, his face was filled with a mixture of approval, respect, fear and confusion. Rezkin could tell that the young man filled his time with observing, categorizing, and interpreting, and Waylen simply could not determine how Rezkin fit into the hierarchy.

It was not long before the ship shoved off, the crew having been ready since before the sun breached the horizon. Rezkin checked that Pride was doing well in his stall. The stallion had not been excited to return to the ship, and he made his displeasure known. Malcius, Palis, Tieran and Brandt were already bored and looking for entertainment, so they had accompanied the warrior. They were discussing whatever they thought they knew about horses and battle chargers amongst themselves. Kai stepped in and observed the horse with a critical eye.

“He surely is a magnificent beast,” the striker remarked. “I suppose I should not have been surprised to discover that you, of all people, are in possession of an Augmerian battle charger. It is fitting, you know,” Kai mused with vaguely concealed innuendo.

Malcius perked up at Kai’s comment. “You mean it is true? It is actually an Augmerian?”

Rezkin frowned. “You doubted me?”

“Well, no, of course not,” Malcius backpedaled. “I mean, how could you tell?”

“Oh, there are many signs to tell. For one, his overall size and perfect proportions are good indicators, but they are not conclusive. The most apparent and accepted validations are the color and the mark. First, this beast is pure black from head to tail. Only the Augmerian line breeds true. Second, if you dared to get close enough, you would see a mage mark on the inside of the left ear. It serves as proof of the horse’s pedigree and describes the lineage.” Making sure the beast knew who was master, Kai stepped closer and peered at the mage mark. “It appears this one’s sire was none other than King Bordran’s mount, Scourge.”

Malcius’s jaw dropped as he protested, “Should he not, then, belong to the king?”

“The horse belongs to me,” Rezkin asserted with a firm look that said he would brook no argument.

The young noble’s mouth worked silently before his words caught up with him. “O-Of course, Rez. I know. I am just saying it is amazing, that is all.” Rezkin nodded once and turned back to brushing the sleek black coat.

“If it was the only boon Bordran gifted him, I would be more impressed; but as it is, I suppose it just seems fitting,” Kai responded with a grin. “It certainly supports my position, though.

“What do you mean? There is more?” Malcius asked. “And, what position?”

“Kai, you overstep,” Rezkin grumbled as he finished brushing down the stallion.

Kai took a stop back and bowed deeply. “My apologies, my…lord,” he mumbled without a hint of chagrin. Four pairs of startled eyes darted back and forth between the striker and the unusual lord. It was nearly unheard of to see a striker show such deference to anyone but the king.

Rezkin tossed the brush into a bucket of supplies and turned to the four lordlings that had gathered to watch. “Should you not all be practicing for the tournament?

“Of course we will practice, but we have two more weeks travel by ship with nothing else to keep us entertained. There is time,” remarked Brandt plaintively. The young man seemed less inclined to practice and more interested in finding trouble. “Now, if we had a couple of those tavern wenches from last night aboard, that would make for an interesting voyage,” he said with a smirk.

“If you focused and spent the entire two weeks practicing, you might have a chance at winning one of those prizes,” Rezkin countered.

“You are competing, also. Why do you not practice with us?” Palis inquired curiously. “All of the time you have been on the quarter deck has been spent on instruction.”

“Rezkin rises at an ungodly hour. I assume he spends it in practice,” Malcius grumbled. “I happen to remember you saying that you did not care for mornings,” he remarked to the warrior.

“Caring for them has little to do with existing in them,” Rezkin muttered as he left the stall. In truth, he enjoyed his peaceful mornings. It was a time of solitude without pretense. Contrary to what Malcius believed, he did not spend his time practicing his dueling Skills. He spent his time practicing more intricate and complex Skills such as close quarters combat, stealth, and intelligence gathering; and he even used ropes and steel clamps to run laps around the outer hull of the ship on a few occasions. The true measure of his Skills came with his ability to carry out his practices without being observed. On a ship such as this, there were always people awake and on duty. People were inside, outside, and high above the ship in the masts and rigging. When being observed was absolutely unavoidable, he was challenged with making it appear that his activities were mundane and uninteresting.

Kai looked at his liege askance. “You are competing in the tournament? Why?” he asked with undisguised disdain. The striker could not image why a Sword Bearer would bother with such frivolity. Besides, Rezkin had always seemed more of the practical sort of warrior who scorned fame and public displays.

“We all have our reasons. In fact, I think you and I will be discussing them at length,” Rezkin said with a broad, amicable smile that may have passed for affable on any other face. Kai knew a bit more about the man he called king, and even that was lacking. He knew nothing about the man’s background and little of his skill, although he assumed it was formidable. To him, Rezkin’s smile was anything but disarming.

“Come, Rez,” Malcius interjected. “We shall entertain ourselves on the quarterdeck for a bit of exercise before the midday break. Perhaps you can show us some other skill or form from your histories. Might even the great striker grace us with a demonstration?” Malcius queried.

Kai grinned and spoke boisterously, “I might have a dance or two you have yet to see, young lord. Lord Rezkin, perhaps the two of us could show these young prodigies a thing or two.”

Tieran furrowed his brow in confusion. “Is he really so skilled?” he inquired.

Rezkin gave Kai a dark look that did not go missed by Palis. A sneaking suspicion began to creep up on the young swordsman, but he said nothing.

Kai’s face turned solemn at Rezkin’s disapproval. “I only meant that he is a dual sword wielder, that is all. It is probably safe to assume that none of you have trained to fight against such a swordsman.”

Malcius nodded and said, “That is true. Even in our practice sessions, he has only ever wielded one blade.”

“And it is just as well,” Kai remarked. “It takes a different set of forms to defend against an attacker wielding more than one weapon. It can be damn near impossible to get in a strike against a skilled opponent. I would not suggest going into such a fight without a second weapon or shield.”

“Are you a dual sword wielder, as well?” asked Palis.

“Me? No, that is not a skill I mastered, although it is not unusual to carry a dagger in the offhand if up against more than one opponent. I actually prefer a two-handed sword. Dual wielding requires the swordsman to be quick and efficient.” He rubbed his jaw thoughtfully and continued, “I am quick enough to be a striker, but I actually prefer a brute force method. I carry the longsword, as do all strikers, but in battle, I would choose a great sword as my primary weapon, if possible.”

“You certainly have the build for it,” Brandt observed.

“So does Rezkin, for that matter,” Palis remarked.

Curious eyes slid over the two warriors as the lords noted the similarities in build and carriage. Rezkin was, of course, younger, and he was a bit taller and had slightly broader shoulders and a longer reach, but there was no mistaking the resemblance now that the two stood side-by-side. No manner of court finery could hide the build that was more similar to the elite warrior’s than it was any of the young lords’ physiques, despite their level of fitness and martial prowess.

“I, for one, shall enjoy watching Rezkin apply his double-blade techniques,” Palis remarked.

Rezkin was irritated with Kai’s needling. The man was no idiot. He knew what he was doing when he laid his less-than-subtle hints. The striker was undermining the air of pompous nobility Rezkin was attempting to don. Rezkin wanted the lords to believe him just skilled enough to be dangerous but not so skilled as to be anything other than a privileged lord. He was going to have to have a talk with the man, and if the talk did not go his way, then he would have to visit more extreme measures. He had no desire to exterminate his own liegeman, but he had not asked for the man’s fealty, and the manner in which the man was operating was anything but subservient.

“Have you combatted with the dual sword forms before? The way you spoke previously made it sound more like it was a technical, scholarly endeavor. I had thought you an artist of sorts, rather than a combatant,” Tieran mused, feeling a precipitous return of his earlier misgivings concerning the curious lord.

Rezkin spied Captain Jimson not far away. He gave a subtle nod to summon the soldier as his alter ego made an abrupt appearance. The Lord Rezkin piped up cheerfully, “I have had my share of opponents, I suppose, but I can only hope the striker goes easy on me. It would be cruel for him to whip me so soundly in front of such an illustrious audience.”

Malcius smiled graciously, “I cannot say I would have such fortitude in your stead.”

Barking a laugh, Kai replied, “Oh, you will have your chance, Lord Malcius. If you wish to fight in that tournament, then I intend to make you work for it. No companion of mine will go in unprepared.”

The Jebai heir screwed up his face in feigned irritation, “Now, that does sound ominous, indeed.”

The troop of lords, the striker, and Captain Jimson arrived on the quarterdeck, and the lords discarded their doublets to stay cool and allow for more freedom of movement. Rezkin hated wearing the doublet at all, and it was utterly absurd in the heat of the summer. Such impractical clothing was expected of a young lord, and he was only thankful that he was not expected to don the fanciful frills, lace, and leggings with the dainty shoes so many of the courtiers were flaunting.

Waylen, seeing the parade of lords, decided to follow along at a slight distance. The lords and Jimson gathered in a wide circle around the perimeter, while Rezkin and Kai faced off in the center. Kai slid his blade from the scabbard and waited for Rezkin to do the same. He wore a wicked smile that dared Rezkin to back out or draw the Sheyalins. Rezkin shifted with obvious discomfort as he noticeably eyed Kai’s blade.

“Will you not draw your blades, Lord Rezkin?” Kai pressed.

“I am loath to draw these swords against the quality of your own master blade that is unique to the strikers. I would not wish for a blade to break,” Rezkin remarked with feigned embarrassment. He allowed the others to believe he was concerned for the welfare of his own swords, when it was more likely the striker’s blade would be doomed.

Captain Jimson suddenly got the hint and leapt forward. “Here, Lord Rezkin. Please use mine. It is a master blade of similar quality to the striker’s, from what I understand.”

Rezkin’s brows rose in surprise, and he smiled pleasantly as he replied, “Why, thank you, Captain. It is most generous of you to lend me your blade.” He removed his sword belt and handed it to the captain.

The striker grinned, and his eyes twinkled with a hint of humor at the young man’s ingenuity. “But, Lord Rezkin, you seem to be a sword short,” he remarked.

Palis stepped forward, “Here, Rezkin. I should like you to use mine. It is also of similar quality and most alike in weight and length to the captain’s. These are certainly a closer match than the soldiers’ blades you used for your previous demonstration.”

“Thank you, Palis. This is most appreciated,” Rezkin replied as he grinned at Kai in triumph. He reminded himself not to revel in his successes and focused on the task at hand.

Kai had no shield, so he pulled his long-handled dagger to use for blocking. The dagger had a long crossguard that hooked upward on each end and could be used for trapping and snapping an opponent’s blade with enough force. “Lord Rezkin, I offer you the honor of first strike.”

Rezkin swung the two unfamiliar blades around in lazy circles. He felt the familiar thrill of battle energy begin to bleed through his being. “No, please, Striker, it is to you. I insist,” Rezkin replied.

The striker bowed slightly in acknowledgement and then came in quickly with a ferocious overhead strike. Rezkin whipped his left blade up to block, while at the same time his right blade swooped in from the side. Kai’s dagger flashed out to catch the blade before it could score and twisted his sword to force Rezkin’s blade away, preventing the younger man from making a move on the striker’s exposed side. The striker stepped in and slashed with his dagger, but Rezkin twisted and slid his right blade between them, blocking the strike.

Rezkin abruptly spun to his left and back around to strike at Kai’s flank. The striker dove forward and rolled back to his feet, but Rezkin was already close enough to strike again. Kai was surprised when the young warrior did not take the opportunity. It was then that Kai realized Rezkin was playing it easy for the audience. The striker decided to push matters. He had plans for his new king, and he could not afford for the young future heads of three prominent houses to see the young man as weak. He wanted Rezkin to impress, and so he would.

The speed and difficulty of the striker’s attacks gradually increased in slow enough increments as to appear that the two had merely been feeling each other out, which they were. Kai truthfully had little idea of the level of his liege’s skill, except that Rezkin had to be a Dual-Blade Swordmaster in order to carry two Sheyalins. But, Rezkin was fighting with unknown blades, and the young man was used to fighting with one long-and one shortsword. The fact that the striker had not been able to score a hit on the young man thus far was impressive, and he had been trying. This was his opportunity to test his king’s mettle.

Rezkin noticed the striker had begun to push the sparring too far. He did not want to expose his abilities in front of the young lords. He could tell from the glint in the striker’s eye that the man did not intend to relent. Neither would he allow Rezkin to take an easy loss. Rezkin could stop the fight quickly by simply defeating the striker, but that would countermand his intentions. If Kai were to perform as a good vassal should, knowing Rezkin wished to hide his abilities, then the striker would step back, thank Rezkin for the match, and applaud his Skills without revealing that neither man had performed to the fullest of his abilities. But, Kai was not being a good vassal. He was pressing on Rezkin’s nerves.

The striker and the young lord danced around each other with increasing intensity. Palis watched as Rezkin passed up several opportunities to strike, and began to wonder if he was holding back intentionally. As the match increased in pace, the young Jebai became certain that Rezkin could have struck during any one of the earlier missed opportunities. One-by-one new techniques slipped into the mix, none of which had been demonstrated on previous occasions. Palis was now certain that Rezkin was a much better swordsman than he claimed to be.

As Rezkin fought the striker, he began to formulate a new plan in the back of his mind. The man was pushing him into revealing more than he could afford for his old plan to succeed. He could blame himself for allowing such events to take place, but with the striker’s determination, the only way he could have prevented it would have been for Kai to die. Rezkin felt no desire for the striker’s death, even if the man did prove problematic for his plans. Part of Rezkin’s training demanded he be capable of generating new plans quickly when the old plans failed – and they would fail. It was one of the laws of combat and intrigue.

Satisfied with his new idea, a feral smile crawled across Rezkin’s face. Kai noticed the glint in Rezkin’s eyes and knew he was in trouble. Rezkin came at him so fast the striker could not have said what moves the man made if his life depended on it. One moment he was engaged in battle, and the next he was sprawled across the deck on his stomach with his face in the splintered boards and a blade at his throat.

Rezkin had rushed Kai with a burst of speed only achievable through years of physical and mental training. A surge of battle energy poured through him. He slashed and twisted at Kai’s dagger-hand with unexpected speed and force. Kai lost his grip, and the dagger went flying only to stick deeply into the wood of the main mast.

The pent-up energy of battle rushed forth in abrupt, unforeseen aggression and violence. He stepped into Kai’s guard and slammed the man in the forearm with the pommel of his sword before quickly catching the blade between both of his own and twisting. The striker could not maintain his grip, and the sword clattered across the deck. Rezkin immediately ducked and swept his leg out and around, knocking the striker’s feet out from under him. Kai hit the deck with a loud whomp, and Rezkin stood over him in triumph with the tip of his blade at the man’s throat.

Rezkin shook his head and tisked. “You have forced me to reveal my hand, Striker,” he said as he leaned forward and continued menacingly, “and I am not pleased.”

“Forgive me, my lord,” the striker muttered against the planks, “I meant no disrespect.”

“I doubt that,” Rezkin hissed as he withdrew his blade.

Kai rolled over and donned a cunning grin as he regained his feet, “Though, my lord, I doubt I could really force you to do anything against your will.”

Rezkin narrowed his eyes at his disobedient vassal. “In the present matter, you are correct. I have changed my plans.” Rezkin cocked his head thoughtfully as his momentary anger fizzled. “Perhaps you have done me a favor, as unintentional as it was. The new plan is much easier but was not previously possible without your presence and cooperation.”

“I endeavor to serve, my lord,” the striker said with a courtly bow. It was an inappropriate genuflection from a striker to a mere lord. Rezkin narrowed his eyes in warning. The striker donned the same tawdry grin that Rezkin was quickly concluding needed to be punched from the man’s face. The young lord jerked a hand in the direction of Kai’s lonely weapons, a clear sign of dismissal. To Rezkin’s ever-growing irritation, the man saluted before moving to retrieve them.

The young warrior wiped the frustration from his face before turning to his companions. He wore a slightly pleasant purse to his lips as he surveyed the astounded faces. Waylen, having had no preconceptions of the man simply looked eager and curious. While the others all wore a cloak of surprise, each had a secondary undercurrent of emotion. Palis appeared to be pleased and satisfied, Brandt’s eyes held a glint of morbid excitement, Tieran was pale and withdrawn, and Malcius appeared confused and dejected. From Captain Jimson was humble acceptance. Surprisingly, Rezkin noted that Wesson had joined the group at some point, but the look on his face was oddly unreadable. Rather than parading around in an arrogant display of nonchalance as he normally would amongst the young nobles, Rezkin waited patiently for their reactions. He knew he would have to drop a portion of his pretense but not all.

After the silence finally became too uncomfortable, Malcius asked, “What was that, Rezkin?” The man’s eyes pleaded for a reasonable explanation, one that he could accept without feeling as though he had been deceived all this time by a man in whom he felt a sort of kindred spirit. Malcius had quickly come to think of the man as a friend, and he admired the dignity and grace with which Rezkin comported himself.

Rezkin grinned. “That was me defeating the striker,” he stated simply.

Palis looked askance at the easy reply, “You were toying with him.”

Rezkin scratched at his jaw uncomfortably, for effect of course, and replied, “No, not toying. I had expected only a simple demonstration of Skill. The striker, I believe, decided to press me for a better accounting of my abilities.” He said the last with a slight scowl toward the grinning striker.

“And, just what are those abilities?” Malcius inquired with an accusatory inflection.

Rezkin tilted his head in acquiescence and replied, “I may have permitted you to believe that my Skills were less advanced than was strictly true. But, in my defense, I never said the forms I previously demonstrated were the only forms I knew, which I recall the captain pointed out at the time.”

“Why did you not tell us, Rezkin?” Malcius heatedly questioned.

“I do not go about bragging of my Skills,” he replied.

“Obviously, but it is more than that. I believe you actively sought to hide your abilities from us. You may not have lied, but you certainly intentionally misled,” Malcius countered.

Captain Jimson would have laughed if the situation were not so serious. Malcius had hit the target dead on and did not even know the massive extent of it. He was curious as to how Rezkin was going to finagle his way out of this one.

Rezkin cocked his head and said honestly, “There would have been too many questions, too many concerns.” Then hedging a bit, he continued, “You were hesitant to practice in front of the striker. Your conviction waned in the presence of a far superior swordsman. To what benefit would I flaunt my prowess? You are all talented swordsmen endeavoring to prove yourselves at tournament. I provided instruction in the form of suggestion and innuendo and aimed to preserve your confidence.”

Malcius scoffed, “We are going to a tournament, Rezkin. There will be superior swordsmen.”

“Yes, but how many of them will you come to know personally? How many will you travel with for weeks at time? If given a choice between you knowing me for my Skill and knowing me for my worth, I would choose worth,” he replied and only afterward realized he truly meant the words.

The anger fled from Malcius’s face. “You sought to gain our acceptance of you, personally, without the benefit of your skill?”

Rezkin furrowed his brow. It had definitely not been his intention at the time, but he recognized it was truer than not at this moment. He cocked his head thoughtfully as he gazed at the faces around him and realized he felt an odd connection with these people. He felt the sensation more strongly for some than others, and strangely, he did not care for the thought of losing it.

“I suppose there is truth in that,” he replied as he gauged each man’s reaction. To his surprise, all discontent seemed to fade away, and the men looked upon him with approval and…pride? Was it pride in him or pride in themselves for his desire to gain their acceptance? He thought it an odd reaction since no one had accomplished anything in which to feel prideful. Pride was a feeling with which Rezkin was relatively unfamiliar, since it violated Rule 14; but he could remember what it felt like when he had been a very young small-man and had completed his tasks. His masters and the strikers had scolded him for his pride and worked relentlessly to strip it from him. Thinking about the strikers had him glancing at Kai who was considering him with an uncharacteristic seriousness.

Malcius smiled broadly and clapped his hands, “Ah, Rez, we do know you, now, and you have no need to hide yourself from us. But, now that I know you are an expert with abilities far beyond my own, I intend to make use of your talents before we arrive in Skutton.”

“Do not think he is the only one,” Palis said with youthful excitement.

“I think you all are missing the point!” Tieran interjected. “How did you get so good Rezkin? Who trained you? Who were these dead masters of whom you spoke?”

Rezkin shrugged, regaining a bit of his nonchalance. “They were men employed for the purpose of training me. I…” he paused in consideration and then forged ahead, “…will admit that I have trained with strikers in the past.”

Kai could not decide if he was surprised. He knew Rezkin had much knowledge of striker Rules and Skills, but he had never heard of anyone training with strikers who had not actually become a striker. Kai had also met all of the strikers and trainees at one time or another, and Rezkin had not been among them.

“But, you are not a striker,” Tieran objected questioningly.

“No, I am not a striker,” Rezkin confirmed.

“It seems you are something more,” a quiet voice spoke up, surprising everyone. Waylen’s eyes darted to the defeated striker and back to Rezkin in implication. Realizing the truth of the statement, all eyes bounced back and forth between the two warriors.

Kai smiled and rocked back on his feet, “What say you to that, my lord?”

“To that, I say nothing. It is what it is. My Skills were superior to yours,” Rezkin replied unashamedly as a noble prodigy might, while leaving the impression that it really was that simple and there was nothing more to the matter.

Kai decided he had best attempt to get back into his liege’s good graces, so he endeavored to assist Rezkin with a bit of explanation. “As you all probably know, every striker must be proficient in the sword, but he must only be a master of a weapon. It does not have to be the sword. There are several who are Masters of multiple weapons. This, here, was only one scenario with dissimilar weapons. Strikers are not invincible. There are other Swordmasters who can best a striker on a given day. And, there are other Rules and Skills with which a striker must be acquainted, although he is not required to master them all. There is a minimum Skill rank one must attain before he may join the ranks of the strikers. Lord Rezkin, here, was simply better in this scenario.”

“I suppose that makes sense,” Malcius said thoughtfully. “There are prodigies of every sort. What is your weapon of mastery, Striker?” he asked.

Kai rubbed the back of his neck as he replied uncomfortably. “Ah, well, mine is the sword,” he muttered and then quickly added, “but I may have gotten a bit slow from the last several months of disuse; and as I said before, I prefer the great sword.”

“Is that it, then? You are truly a Dual-Blade Swordmaster?” Palis inquired of Rezkin hesitantly with restrained excitement.

Rezkin knew the question would arise once he defeated the striker and answered simply, “Yes, I am.”

“But, you are so young,” Tieran argued. “How could you have already mastered dual-blade wielding?”

Rezkin shrugged. “My age has little to do with it. Mastering my Skills was my purpose in life until recently. I mastered a single blade and then continued on to master dual blades. My instructors were insistent on perfection and dedication.”

“That is a harsh upbringing,” Brandt interjected. “I do not envy you. I do everything I can to avoid perfection and dedication,” he said with a smirk.

Rezkin nodded and remarked, “A sentiment that will not aid you in any of your endeavors.”

Brandt shrugged as though unconcerned, but in truth, the young lord knew his antics would come back to bite him eventually, probably sooner rather than later. Brandt was no idiot, though. While his friends and family saw him as the louche rebel who reveled in disruption and shirked responsibilities, he was secretly an avid reader and student. His intelligence and ability to absorb information came naturally, leaving him more time for his misadventures. Those who knew him thought him sloughing his studies when, in actuality, he had completed them far in advance. He intentionally hid his accomplishments for no other reason than to spite his overbearing father. Rezkin caught on to the scheme only because he found books and notes hidden in the young man’s room that were far more advanced than would have been expected of a young delinquent.

“I should like to hear more of this upbringing of yours,” Malcius commented.

Rezkin replied, “Perhaps another time. I have no desire to speak of it at this time.”

Malcius nodded acceptance. “Fair enough.”

Since tensions were eased, Rezkin stepped forward and returned Palis’s blade. The young man took the blade reverently, eyes filled with admiration. Rezkin did not feel comfortable with such veneration and attempted to appear more personable by smiling amicably. He crossed the deck to return the captain’s sword and retrieve his own sword belt, which Jimson had been left holding once again. Knowing there were enchantments on the blades that could lead to unfortunate circumstances for anyone but the bearer did not ease the captain’s discomfort with being in possession of the Sheyalins.

The others eyed Rezkin’s swords curiously as he buckled his sword belt, no doubt already forming the same question – Why would a Dual-Blade Swordmaster carry inferior weapons? Before Rezkin was forced to reveal even more than he was prepared to at that time, he said, “I thought you all wanted to get some exercise? We still have plenty of time before lunch.”

“Why do you not draw your own blades, Rezkin?” Malcius ventured.

Rezkin scowled in irritation, hoping the man would drop the subject with his feelings evident. “That is also something I do not wish to discuss at this time.”

“I do not buy the story that they are inferior,” Malcius retorted.

“I never said they were inferior,” Rezkin countered.

Malcius started to argue but stopped as he replayed the previous instances when Rezkin avoided using his own swords, “No, I suppose you did not. So why, then, do you not use them?”

“I do not draw my blades idly,” Rezkin muttered.

“I once read of a Swordmaster who developed a strange mental conditioning to believe that every time he drew his sword he had to take a life,” Palis commented. “If he drew his blade, he would not return it to its sheath until he killed someone. At first, he thought it a curse; but after a time, he came to believe that it eased his temperament and taught him to be more discerning about when he turned to violence. He roved the countryside seeking to protect the innocent and defeat evil. Before he died, he claimed to have found the secret of complete peace and harmony within oneself. Even though he faced many opponents, he had not drawn his blade in more than a decade.”

Rezkin knew the story, and it was hardly applicable; but it gave the others something to which they could cling. “It is nothing so drastic as that. However, if I draw either of these blades against a man, it is because I intend to kill him.”

“I heard you drew on the magistrate,” Brandt remarked with sadistic satisfaction. He hated magistrates. They were such uptight, pushy fellows. Of course, being heir of a noble house, he was never held accountable to one. All of his infractions were referred to his father, and if his father did not handle it appropriately, then his entire House would endure the consequences. Brandt’s father always administered harsh punishments. The young noble simply got better at hiding his transgressions, at least in the public eye.

“I did,” Rezkin replied darkly.

“There were rumors…” Malcius stated, his voice trailing off as his eyes fell on Rezkin’s longsword.

Rezkin lifted a brow. “I know the rumors. It was dark, and the firelight from the torches could play tricks on the eye.” It was not a denial. It was simply a statement of the lighting conditions.

“Rezkin’s blades are enchanted,” the mage interjected. If Rezkin was a less observant man, he might have forgotten the mage’s presence.

Malcius’s eyes widened as his attention darted to the mage. “What?”

Wesson nodded and continued. “I am sure it is a source of his hesitancy to draw them without cause. I doubt an enchanted blade would be suitable for a simple demonstration,” he stated factually.

“No, I should say not!” Malcius remarked. “What kind of enchantment?”

Rezkin watched the mage curiously. He had not expected the man to speak, and he had no idea what his intentions might be in doing so. He had known the mage only a few hours longer than Kai, and the striker had already caused him a great deal of trouble.

“Well, a few things, really. A major one is to prevent anyone other than Rezkin from wielding the blades, so I would avoid investigating them out of curiosity. It could have severe, perhaps fatal consequences,” the mage replied. “I apologize, Rezkin, for speaking out of turn, but it seems only fair to warn them. Sometimes curiosity can be a temptation not easily overcome.”

“No, you are correct, of course, journeyman,” Rezkin replied. “I simply assumed no one would touch another man’s weapon without permission, but perhaps a warning is warranted under the circumstances.”

Tieran released a low whistle. “That must have cost you a fortune. Still, with such an achievement, I can imagine you would want to protect your blades. What else?”

The mage shrugged and said, “Mostly minor things. One so they require no sharpening or regular maintenance, another to prevent oxidation, or rust, as you would say – that sort of thing.”

“Wow, I have never known anyone with an enchanted blade,” Palis remarked.

The mage looked at him curiously and asked, “How would you know?”

“Well, I would think someone would mention something like that,” the young lord replied, “or it would at least be rumored.”

“A mage could sense the enchantment if within a close enough proximity,” Wesson informed, “but mundanes would be completely unaware. Enchanted blades are expensive and unusual, but not so rare that you have not been around them in your circles. Most people do not speak of the enchantments because such blades are extremely valuable and tend to be targeted for theft.”

The lords all glanced at each other as if questioning whether or not their friends were carrying enchanted blades. Wesson rolled his eyes and stated, “I doubt any of you would be carrying them. Enchanted blades are forbidden in the tournament, anyway. It is possible that some of your fathers or their friends have enchanted blades, or you might even have a few hanging on your walls for display.”

Palis frowned and replied, “I am sure my father would have told us if he had an enchanted sword.”

Wesson shrugged again and responded, “I do not know about House Jebai, but I believe General Marcum, your uncle, has a few in his renowned collection. I know for certain House Nirius bears at least one, which is carried by the duke.”

Tieran glanced over in surprise and asked, “How do you know?”

“It is not really a secret among the mage community,” the journeyman replied as he spread his hands wide, “as a…battle mage,” he choked out, “it is my duty to know these things. Many of the enchantments that go into weapons are destructive magic, which is my specialty.”

“If you are all satisfied, perhaps you would like to get in at least a bit of practice before the midday repast. Come now, you have two Swordmasters at your disposal. Surely you would make use of us.” Rezkin remarked.

Palis’s eyes lit up as he rushed forward. “Do you know the Channerían Silver Wind Dance? I expect a number of Channerían to show for the tournament, and I have yet to learn a sequence to effectively counter the moves.”

Rezkin nodded and began discussing and demonstrating the forms, and the others realized their opportunity for additional interrogation had been lost. They quickly fell in to their own practices receiving helpful advice from Striker Kai, who seemed to believe the most effective way of teaching was to impose pain and embarrassment. The young lords were thrown to the deck, socked in the gut and knocked in the head more times than they had suffered in their entire lives; and, it was all inflicted with boisterous laughter and hearty chuckles from the sadistic warrior.

When the group finally broke for lunch, the lords and Jimson were all weary and moaning. Several eyed Reaylin with dreams of having their aches healed. The young woman, not knowing the reason for the looks, was so uncomfortable she eventually piled all of her meat and vegetables between chunks of bread and took her meal to the deck. If she had known what they wanted of her, she probably would have jumped overboard.

Lord Nasque glanced around at the somber faces covered in bruises and welts and remarked, “It looks like you boys got into a row. Is there a problem of which we should be aware?”

“The striker is a brutal master,” Tieran grumbled with his face in his plate.

“Well, I think you all look positively dreadful,” Shiela remarked with repugnance. “And, you smell.”

Ignoring Shiela’s comment, the baron remarked, “Ah, so it was sword practice, then? Waylen, my boy, you do not seem much the worse for wear.”

Waylen shrugged and answered quietly, “I received my share of hits.”

“But my boy is fast, is he not?” the baron said with pride.

“That he is,” the striker announced. “He is certainly faster than these louts, but he could yet be faster. What we need is to convince Tieran, here, to pick up a real sword and dispense with that frilly rapier.”

“It is a gentleman’s weapon,” Tieran protested.

“It is a pig sticker,” the striker countered. “Do you really think that twig could hold up against one of these longswords or a great sword? You cannot block with a sword like that against the heavier weapons. It is only effective if you are combatting another man with a rapier. Do not get me started on pitting it against armor. The only way you are going to survive in battle with that sword is if you are far faster, more agile, and unerringly accurate. You are none of those things.”

“Rezkin could do it,” Palis remarked.

“Perhaps,” the striker conceded, “but that just sells my point. Tieran is not Rezkin. Tell me, Tieran, how old were you when you chose the rapier?”

Tieran shifted uncomfortably, “I was twelve, I think.”

“Uh, huh. And, why did you choose it?” Kai prodded.

“Well, I spent much time at court, and many of the courtiers were carrying them. I thought they looked elegant with the swirling, golden hilts.” He ducked his head in embarrassment, “And, it was lighter than the other swords. I did not have to work as hard.”

“You probably realize, now, that you did yourself a disservice. It would have been more advantageous to practice with a heavier weapon than you would typically carry. Even if you wanted to, you would not have the strength to wield a longsword for any length of time.”

“Perhaps I will heed your words in the future and choose another weapon; but for now, I am contending in the rapier competition. It would do me little good to practice with a longsword at this point,” Tieran argued.

“I disagree,” Kai stated. “Between now and the tournament, if you practice every day for a couple of hours with a longsword, you will see a marked improvement in your speed and endurance with the rapier.”

“Truly?” Tieran inquired with interest.

Kai grunted in affirmation and continued, “And, it would do you all good to practice wielding your blades single handedly with your off hands. Right now you are unbalanced. Besides, if your primary sword arm is injured, you may have need to wield your blade in the other hand to save your life. Even if you can never wield more than one blade at a time, you should be able to wield your blade effectively with either hand.”

Malcius nodded and motioned to his brother as he said, “Palis practices with his left hand sometimes.”

Palis flushed and remarked, “Not as much as I should, but I have been attempting to hone my skills. At first, it was very difficult and extremely awkward. My mind kept screaming at me to switch hands. I am getting used to it, though.”

“And that is the problem with these instructors of the art,” the striker grumbled. “They teach for performance and showmanship rather than practicality and battle prowess. If you had learned to switch hands from the start, you would not have such a problem. I would venture to say Rezkin was practicing with both hands from the moment he picked up his first practice sword.”

The baron leaned in and lowered his voice as he asked, “Is the man so good, then? You have made several remarks regarding his skill.”

Rezkin, the mage, the soldiers, Frisha and Tam were sitting at another table on the other side of the room, but still, the room was very small. Rezkin was actively focusing on the conversation at the other table, so he heard the baron’s question. His companions, though, were engaged in their own conversations and thus far had missed the passing remarks about his skill. He hoped the answers to the baron’s question would come just as quietly. He was not so fortunate. A sudden flurry of excited replies burst from the adjacent table catching the attention of everyone at his own.

“He is a Dual-Blade Swordmaster, Father,” Waylen replied.

“You should have seen Rezkin and Striker Kai sparring on the deck. How often do you get to see a close up performance of two Swordmasters?” Palis asked rhetorically.

“I have never seen one,” Waylen remarked. Despite his shyness, he had been elated to witness the match, and he was interested in the discussion. “But, Father, he was so fast. I think I could never hope to match his speed.”

Frisha furrowed her brow and stared at the table of nobles as she said, “Wait, are they talking about you, Rez?”

“It was nothing – just a simple sparring match on the deck during a practice session,” Rezkin replied.

“It does not sound like nothing,” Tam remarked. “It sounds like they believe you are a Swordmaster.”

Jimson rolled his eyes and said, “Really, Rezkin, the secret is out.” He turned to Frisha and Tam and said flatly, “Rezkin is a Dual-Blade Swordmaster, and he carries enchanted blades.”

Both of his friends were stunned for a moment, and then Frisha’s face grew increasingly flushed with anger. Just as Rezkin expected her to explode at him for keeping such a secret, she asked in a disturbingly calm voice, “Does my uncle know?”

Rezkin cocked his head curiously and said, “Yes, he is aware.”

The young woman slapped her fist against the table and stood so fast her chair skidded across the floor nearly toppling over. “You mean to tell me he knew you were so accomplished and wealthy enough to carry enchanted blades, and he still rejected you?” she shouted. Every head turned in in the direction of the unexpected outburst.

Rezkin held her gaze and said, “Yes.”

Frisha actually growled loudly in frustration. “I cannot believe this! That’s why he told us to stay with you no matter what! If he does not change his mind when we return, I swear I will personally strangle him!”

Whether from the shock of Rezkin’s revelation or the uncharacteristic vehemence of Frisha’s eruption, Tam suddenly could not hold back a round of laughter. Frisha scowled at her best friend and said, “What are you laughing at? This isn’t funny!”

Tam only laughed harder, nearly falling from his chair. “I am sorry, Frisha. It’s just…it’s just hearing you threaten to strangle the general. Ha ha ha! I’m picturing it now,” he said as he continued his uncontrolled giggle, wiping tears from his eyes.

“Your uncle is one of the generals? Which general?” Kai interrupted.

Frisha looked at the striker in dismay. “The General. General Marcum, of course,” she replied.

“Oh ho! I did not realize that you, too, were a member of the Jebai Household,” Kai responded, eyeing the young woman speculatively.

With a huff, Frisha said, “I am not. I am Uncle Marcum’s heir. My mother is his sister.”

The striker’s eyes brightened as they landed on Rezkin. “And you are courting her? This is most excellent, my lord. You are ahead in the game. I had not realized you were already so well placed.”

Rezkin stood abruptly, and his frame seemed to expand to fill the room. He glared at the striker and said, “Kai, you can strike those thoughts from your mind, for they have no place in reality. If you must express such sentiments, then I will not have you do so here. My intentions toward Frisha are genuine, and I will not have you sully the appeal with your absurd aspirations.”

Kai stood and bowed as he replied, “I apologize, my lord. I meant no offense, though you cannot disagree that it is advantageous to have the general on your side.”

Rezkin grumbled at the irony of the statement as he retook his seat and said, “There is no side, Kai, and if there were, the general would not be on it. The man hates me.”

Kai chuckled as he sat back down in his seat at the other side of the room and plucked his tankard from the table. “I doubt that. I know General Marcum, and if he truly hated you, he would not have permitted you to escort his heir on a voyage such as this.”

Rezkin grunted and remarked, “I think you underestimate Frisha’s capacity and influence. Marcum favors her and was inclined to give her this opportunity only to satisfy her desire to attend the tournament. He only agreed to my service because he knows I am both capable and willing to protect her.” Of course, there was more to it. He did not mention the general’s other concerns regarding assassins and traitors. With Kai having been living in a barrel for the last several months, he doubted the man had heard much about the infamous Raven.

“That is the problem,” Frisha complained. “Uncle Marcum admits that Rezkin is good enough to play guard and babysitter, but he’ll not accept him for my husband.” Frisha flushed at the thought of Rezkin being her husband and suddenly realized how many pairs of eyes were on her. She sat down and buried her head in her hands.

Tam turned to Rezkin and asked, “You’re a Swordmaster?”

Chapter 9

Rezkin strode past the foremast and placed his hands on the railing as he looked out beyond the bowsprit. Thick forest lined the banks, but over the distance it looked like a solid wall of brown and green. The river was massive and wide, the current so swift that if one were to fall overboard, he would be sucked under and drowned without any hope of swimming to shore. That is, unless he was swimming with a broken leg, broken rib, and previously dislocated shoulder after infiltrating a guild of assassins in the middle of the night.

Several days had passed, and Rezkin decided it was time to have a talk with Kai. The young warrior carefully weighed how much information he wished to reveal versus how much he hoped to gain from the striker. The young warrior believed it unlikely the older man would be able to give him the whereabouts of Striker Farson, but he could possibly shed some light on the intentions and loyalties of the strikers relative to the king. Rezkin needed to ferret out his opponent, if one existed.

The warrior turned to seek out the striker and spied Tam nestled in a nook reading a book. Tam was a year older than Rezkin, and yet, Rezkin thought of him as being much younger. Tam had the innocence of someone who had grown up in relative safety with few responsibilities other than to learn his craft and tend to a few household chores. Tam wanted to be a soldier, though, and he was in for a rude awakening if he did not gain some perspective on the world. The young man had not integrated well into the groups aboard the ship, and Rezkin intended for that to change.

Approaching his friend, Rezkin said, “Reading again? I do not believe it is a habit suffered by any of the soldiers I have encountered.”

“This was always my favorite,” Tam said. “I have read it a dozen times. Being able to read this book was what encouraged me to learn my letters in the first place.” With a twinkle in his eye, he said, “You should read it sometime, Rez. I think you would find it intriguing.”

“Why is that?” Rezkin inquired.

Tam shook his head with a chuckle. “No, if you wish to find out, then you will have to read it. I will lend you my copy.”

“Perhaps another time. You wish to be a soldier, Tam. You should be practicing or learning from Jimson and his men,” Rezkin remarked.

Tam shrugged. “I’ve spent some time with them, but I figure there will be time enough for soldiering after I join the army.” Tam frowned and continued, “But I don’t know, Rez. It doesn’t sound at all like what I thought it would be. I expected adventures to far away places and fighting vile enemies and killing terrible monsters that wreak havoc across the countryside. I thought I could help save a village of innocent people from brutal death by fearsome foes.” His voice was passionate and energetic, as though reenacting some bard’s tale. He shook his head sadly and said, “That’s not at all what they do. They do paperwork and guard buildings and walls that are never attacked. Millins said he has never even had to draw his sword in combat, and he’s a sergeant.”

Rezkin nodded in understanding and said, “You want the role of hero or adventurer from your stories, not a common soldier.”

Tam dropped his eyes to his closed book and said, “Yes, I suppose so. But, there is no such position of employment, is there? It’s just a fantasy.”

“Perhaps you are already living your dream, Tam. You helped escort and protect a lady and delivered her safely to her guardian. You are far from your home of Cheswick, traveling to a distant city for a tournament that will attract visitors and participants from far-off lands. You have already seen battle on two separate occasions and even taken a life in defense of a comrade.”

Tam looked up with distant eyes as he thought over Rezkin’s words. “Yes, I suppose that’s true. When you put it that way, it does seem exciting; but it did not seem like some great adventure at the time. It was just one event leading to the next and trying to survive.”

“That is the way of the world. The greatest adventures often start with a simple task and rarely seem so great when you are enduring them,” Rezkin replied.

Tam looked at Rezkin from the corner of his eye and said, “You don’t sound your age at all when you say things like that.”

Rezkin grunted and said, “It was more than just coincidence, Tam. You could have rejected my companionship in Justain, and your adventure would likely have ended with bandits on the River Straei. Likewise, you could have joined the army when we arrived in Kaibain and the adventure would have ended in boredom. You jumped at the chance to travel to the tournament, though. Finding adventure and surviving it means seizing opportunities when they present themselves. Perhaps you have a natural talent for adventuring.”

Tam smiled at the thought. “That would be something,” he remarked, “although I see no wealth in it. If it were not for the funds the general gave us and your generosity, my purse would have already run empty.”

“Adventurers often survive off the patronage of wealthier men,” the warrior commented. Rezkin cocked his head thoughtfully and said, “I have a proposal for you, Tam. It is an opportunity, but I cannot say where it will lead.”

“What kind of proposal?” Tam inquired.

“A position of employment,” Rezkin answered.

“You want me to work for you?” Tam asked in surprise. “You know, Rez, I originally thought you a man of few means, but it seems I underestimated you. I certainly never imagined you a Swordmaster. You now employ a journeyman battle mage, and the striker defers to you for reasons I have yet to understand. To be honest, I still don’t comprehend what goes on between you and the general. I think you missed one important point concerning my adventures, though, and that is you. I wouldn’t have had such adventures and certainly wouldn’t have survived them if not for you.”

Rezkin considered the young man’s words. “Some of your questions will be answered if you accept my offer, but you must not do so lightly. I will be honest. It is a very dangerous road I travel. Any associated with me are placed in danger, those in my confidence more so,” Rezkin explained.

Tam looked at Rezkin askance and said, “What do you mean? Are you saying we’re in danger just for knowing you? By the Maker, Rezkin, I thought you said your priority was to protect your friends.”

“It is, but I do not believe that protecting and honoring someone means locking him in a tower to prevent any ill from befalling him,” the young warrior replied. “You desire a life of adventure, and I will assist you in attaining it. Even if you fall in your task, at least you have lived your life well.”

Tam shifted uncertainly and replied, “I guess I see your point, but what of Frisha? She didn’t express any desire for such a life.”

“Which is why I did not force my hand when confronting the general. You were present when I explained to her that I have many secrets, and it is based on only a small portion of those secrets that the general made his decision. Even though I disagree with Marcum, Frisha knows little of what danger surrounds me. Therefore, she is unable to make an informed decision. I must concede to her guardian at this time,” Rezkin explained.

“But you have not given up,” Tam observed.

“No. I am not so easily defeated,” Rezkin replied with a grin.

“Then you should tell her. Tell her whatever she needs to know to make her decision,” Tam asserted.

Rezkin shook his head, “This is no small matter. It is a matter of conspiracy and death. Until I have more information, the less she knows, the better. She has gained notoriety as the general’s heir, and that may protect her to some extent.”

“So, what of this job you offer?” Tam inquired, steering the conversation back to the original topic.

“I would not have it supersede our friendship, Tam. I can provide you with the financial means to accompany me on my own adventures. In return you will perform whatever tasks I require and continue your weapons training.”

Tam looked at Rezkin skeptically, “I get to adventure and train with a Swordmaster and get paid to do it? Even Lord Tieran, the duke’s son, doesn’t train with a Swordmaster, and I doubt it is for lack of desire or means. You say I must only perform a few errands?”

“There may be more than a few, and they will not necessarily be easy. There is a condition, though,” Rezkin said as he held up a finger to emphasize his point. “I require your complete loyalty. There may be no conflicts of interest. When we fight our foes, you stand with me. Whether against foreign invaders or your own father or brothers or even the king, you stand with me alone.”

Tam gripped his book tighter and jumped to his feet with a scowl. “You seek to buy my loyalty? I thought we were friends, Rez, and you saved my life more than once already. You know I stand with you.”

Rezkin held Tam’s eyes in his gaze and said, “I know that even friends and kin will balk in the presence of the king and threats of treason. What would you do should your family be captured and placed upon the block in your stead?”

“My family would commit no offense to warrant such an end, and any king or lord who would do such a thing wouldn’t be deserving of my loyalty,” Tam replied with conviction.

“I imagine it is easier to say than it is to look upon their tear-stained faces, the nooses around their necks, and image your loss,” the warrior remarked.

Tam frowned and said, “Can you say you would feel differently if it was Frisha in their place? I may not know your secrets, Rez, but I think I know your heart. A man must stand for something, and I believe you stand for right. Whether you believe me or not, I stand with you.”

“When you question my actions or decisions? When you believe I have committed egregious offense? What then?” Rezkin inquired.

“I will confront you, as a friend should,” Tam replied. “Every man must be held accountable to someone.”

“And, the king? Is the king held accountable?” Rezkin pressed.

Tam shifted uncomfortably and replied, “The king or any noble is accountable to his subjects. Isn’t that what you said?”

Rezkin smiled genuinely and gripped Tam’s shoulder as he said, “That will do, Tam. I believe we have an agreement on this matter. As to the matter of employment?”

Tam scoffed. “I think even the general would not begrudge my decision to train with a Swordmaster over becoming a common soldier – even if he does hate you,” he finished with a grin.

“Very well,” Rezkin replied as he turned and nudged the young man forward. “Our first order of business is to interrogate a striker – again.”

Tam’s eyes widened, and he asked, “What makes you think the striker will agree to answer your questions?”

“Oh, he will answer my questions – one way or another,” Rezkin remarked. Tam looked at Rezkin sideways to gauge his friend’s sincerity. Rezkin was not smiling.

The two made their way to the quarterdeck where they found the striker pummeling Palis and Waylen, again. Rezkin made a show of looking around for the other young lords, and Kai remarked, “The other pansies said they needed a break. Bah! They are a lost cause. A few bumps and bruises and they go running.”

Rezkin shrugged. He could not really disagree. The young men’s training had been sadly lacking in discipline. Palis picked himself up from the ground as he worked his shoulder in circles and rubbed at a bruised hip. Waylen was holding his blade in his left hand and several of the fingers on his right were bandaged together. Rezkin had just found the next practice subject for his unwilling healer. Reaylin could protest all she wanted, but he knew the young woman would not turn the young man away with broken bones, especially with the upcoming tournament.

“Kai, I need to speak with you,” Rezkin announced.

The older man lost his sadistic grin and furrowed his brow. He had expected Rezkin to confront him long before this. “Yes, my…lord,” he replied and turned to his students. “Do not think this a reprieve. You can practice even without my presence.”

Both young men nodded agreement as two pairs of observant eyes bounced back and forth between Kai and Rezkin. Everyone had noticed Kai’s odd behavior toward the young warrior. A striker was subservient to no one but the king; and yet, the man genuflected and capitulated repeatedly to his young savior. For the most part, the others convinced themselves he did so as a matter of respect and honor for the man who saved his life, but in truth, even that explanation never sat well with them.

Kai sheathed his sword and walked steadily past his liege. Rezkin followed, trailed by Tam. Issuing directions, he guided the striker into a secluded space below decks in the cargo hold. Rezkin knew from his reconnaissance practice that no one visited this part of the ship, and the water lapping at the hull could help prevent eavesdroppers from hearing anything – not that he expected there to be any eavesdroppers, but one should always prepare in any case. Trunks and crates were strapped to the walls, but in the center was a small open space. Kai noted a single chair had been placed in the center.

“Is the seat for me or the boy?” Kia inquired.

“Sit,” Rezkin ordered.

Kai grumbled as he sat in the chair. Tam nervously moved to one side. He wished he could simply disappear amongst the crates, but the striker watched him curiously.

“If this is about me exposing you for your Skill, it was only my intention to ensure you had the proper respect from those boys,” the striker remarked.

“I believe I already had their respect without your assistance,” Rezkin asserted. “Despite what you may think, I am capable of operating without you. You have an agenda, Kai – an agenda with which I do not agree. That is not why you are here, though. I have questions and expect you to answer them.”

“And him?” Kai inquired.

“He is my friend and is now in my employ,” Rezkin remarked.

“So he knows about you then? I am free to speak?” Kai asked.

“No, he is not yet informed, but you are free to answer my questions. He has sworn his loyalty to me,” Rezkin answered.

“Loyalty but not fealty,” Kai huffed. Tam’s brows rose. Why would he swear fealty to Rezkin? Perhaps his suspicions that Rezkin really was a lord were true.

“That is your agenda, Kai, not mine. I do not ask for fealty,” Rezkin said. “We will move on to my questions now. I want to know about the strikers. You will tell me everything. How many are there?”

“I suppose it is your right to know, but I do not see that it is his,” Kai said, nodding toward the other young man.

“That is for me to decide,” Rezkin asserted. If Kai wanted to claim Rezkin as his king, then the young warrior would take advantage of the situation. He needed information, and Kai was obliged to answer.

The older man grumbled but responded, “There are supposed to be one hundred and fifty strikers at any one time. Occasionally, some are lost, and it takes some time to replace them. Even more rarely, someone thought lost returns, and we are in excess.”

“Where do they train? I already know their central governance is not conducted in the palace. Where is their base?” Rezkin asked.

Kai narrowed his eyes suspiciously and remarked, “I thought you said you trained with the strikers.”

Tam’s eyes darted to the young warrior. This was the first he had heard of it, but it would make sense. Rezkin did say he was raised and trained by men in a fort, and he had reached the rank of a Dual-Blade Swordmaster.

“The place where I was trained was not their main training facility nor their base of operations. Now, answer the question,” Rezkin prodded.

Kai muttered something indistinguishable under his breath and then answered, “The main training facility is called Goroleny, although most of us just say Gorol in casual conversation. It is located about two weeks ride northwest of Caradon. The main base of operations is called The Stands,” he informed with a shrug. “I do not know why. It is located about a week and a half ride west of Kaibain in a cave system in the hill country. You will find neither on any map.”

“Are there other facilities?” Rezkin asked.

“I did not believe so – until I met you,” Kai added with irritation.

Rezkin pondered this. Thus far, the information had not been immediately useful. “What of the hierarchy? How does it work?” he asked.

Kai shook his head. “It is not like that. There is no hierarchy amongst the strikers. All are considered equal, but some have specific responsibilities. Strikers are required to Master certain Skills. Each one focuses on the Skills for which he is best suited. When a task is to be carried out, the striker with the most applicable skills is selected to complete the mission.”

“I am familiar with the Skills,” Rezkin remarked and motioned for the striker to continue.

Kai nodded shortly. “When the king issues an order, that order is communicated to the necessary parties by the Speaker. It is not a position of promotion or power. Each speaker chooses someone to train as his replacement, and the speaker does not make any decisions on his own. He simply disseminates the knowledge.”

“No one else issues orders?” Rezkin inquired.

“Only the king can issue orders, but they do occasionally come to us via the seneschal. Those orders are typically of the routine sort. Anything truly important would come directly from the king through the speaker,” Kai explained.

“What if the king does not wish for all of the strikers to know of an order. What if he has a secret task and does not wish for it to be made known?”

Kai shifted uncomfortably, “Well, the king could call upon a specific striker to perform the task, and the striker would be required to keep the king’s confidence. Bordran did it sparingly, but Caydean makes use of the tactic often. When the king calls on certain strikers too often, it induces a hierarchy of importance and political influence within the strikers. As I said before, the strikers are meant to be equal and function with the highest efficiency. Caydean’s method greatly diminishes the power and effectiveness of the strikers as a whole but shifts the balance of power in the king’s favor. Every striker, by oath and duty, is loyal to the king; but Caydean has certain strikers that are, shall we say, more loyal, than others. I was a member of this special group. I thought it an honor – until I learned of the king’s machinations.”

“So there are rifts among the strikers? Not all are as supportive of the king as others?” Rezkin asked.

The striker shrugged and replied, “There are no official groups, as far as I am aware, and people to do not speak out openly; but strikers are trained to follow Rules and conduct themselves with honor. Caydean has no honor. He is soulless and corrupt, and he takes pleasure in corrupting the souls of others.”

Kai’s voice rose with increasing vehemence as he said, “He takes good, honorable men and forces them to do unspeakable evil by virtue of their oaths and fealty, but to deny the king is to reject your oath and forfeit your life. Do you not understand? You gave me the chance to preserve my honor and escape Caydean’s treachery. I know others dream of the same opportunity.”

“I did nothing,” contradicted the young warrior.

Kia’s eyes widened. “You do not have to do anything. Your mere existence is enough. Whether you accept it or not, Bordran’s actions provide people with an alternative to serving that evil bastard.”

Rezkin grunted. “Caydean is no bastard. He is the eldest son of King Bordran and Queen Lecillia, and, therefore, the rightful ruler of Ashai.”

“So say you. You cannot deny the equal claim that Bordran chose another,” Kai said cryptically, so as not to alarm their young observer. Tam stood wide-eyed, and, at least for the moment, seemed interested enough to forget his nerves.

“This is getting us nowhere, and I have more questions. Do you know of a striker named Farson?” Rezkin asked abruptly.

Kai furrowed his brow in thought. “Yes, I was familiar with Farson. We were in training together some twenty years past. I admit his Skill was greater than mine at the time. He was barely twenty and had already mastered several weapons. It was enough to gain King Bordran’s notice, not that it mattered in the long run, I suppose. He was killed on a mission, oh, about fifteen years ago, I think.”

“Adona, Beritt, Greyson…” Rezkin said as he went on to list the other seventeen strikers with whom he had trained. While the team consisted of only fifteen, a few of them died over the years and were replaced. “Are you familiar with them, as well?”

The older man’s eyes widened with each name. When Rezkin was finished, he let out a low whistle. “That is a long list of the dead. I know their names and reputations. All of them were highly Skilled.” Kai furrowed his brow and thought over the list. “Some of them had mastered the more unusual Skills. Those losses were difficult to overcome, as far as training new recruits was concerned. Of those on the list, Adona was killed first, about a year or two before Farson. The others were all lost in the following years, although a few of the deaths were never confirmed. The greatest hit came when seven of them were lost during a storm at sea about ten years ago.”

Rezkin nodded. Those dates were consistent with increases in his training regimen. More strikers had shown up over time as his Skills increased. What was interesting was that Kai, and presumably most of the strikers, if not all, had been duped.

“You said only a few of the deaths were not confirmed. How did you learn of the others’ deaths?” Rezkin asked.

Kai shrugged. “I do not know how some were confirmed. The knowledge probably came down through the speaker. Others, well, their bodies were returned and entombed. Funerals were held.” Kai scratched at his beard in thought as Rezkin pondered the response.

“You know, I was originally selected to go on one of those failed missions,” the striker mused. “Bordran requested someone with an odd combination of Skills, and I satisfied the requirements. The old king asked a lot of questions, particularly about my personal life. At the time, I was newly wed and expecting my first child. When Bordran heard of it, he requested someone else. He said it was no offence to me, but the task was almost certainly a suicide mission, and he was loath to take me away from my family. It turned out he was right, and I never begrudged him the rejection.”

“The other men? Did they have families?”

“I cannot say. Strikers tend to keep their personal lives to themselves,” Kai remarked.

Rezkin took a few steps back and sat on a crate across from the striker. The lantern flickered, casting eerie shadows amongst the cargo. Kai watched the young warrior with curiosity. Why the interest in long-dead strikers? He would have thought the man would be more interested in the living ones.

“The strikers I listed did not die on missions, nor were they lost at sea,” Rezkin abruptly stated. “You were misled. In fact, all but three of them were alive up until close to two months ago when I set out on my journey, and one still lives.”

Kai blinked several times in astonishment. That was not at all what he expected to hear. “How do you know this?”

“Because they were my instructors. Over the years, as my training increased, more arrived. There were always fifteen strikers at any one time for the last five years. In addition, I had two Masters who were not strikers. Are you familiar with the names Jaiardun and Peider?”

The striker furrowed his brow and replied, “No, I do not believe so. The names do not sound Ashaiian.”

“No, they do not. I have my suspicions about their origins, but that will have to wait,” Rezkin replied.

“So, the strikers had another training facility? Why did I never hear of it?” Kai muttered.

“No, I do not believe the strikers had another training facility. I believe Bordran had a training facility staffed with strikers,” Rezkin explained.

“How many were trained in this facility?” Kai asked dubiously.

“One,” Rezkin replied.

Kai’s eyes widened as he sputtered, “You expect me to believe that Bordran effectively killed off nearly twenty strikers over the years, secreting them away to some mysterious training center from which they never returned, just to train you?”

Rezkin nodded curtly.

After a long pause, Kai asked, “What of your family? Who are they? You must have been important. I cannot imagine he selected some random boy.”

“I have no family of which I am aware. I was raised and trained at the fortress since infancy,” Rezkin replied.

“Why would he need so many just to train one man?” the striker asked incredulously.

Rezkin looked at Kai thoughtfully and then finally said, “I had to master the Rules and Skills. They required Masters of every Skill to instruct, and they needed men to fulfill the roles for mock battles and stealth scenarios. It was efficient to use the same men.”

Kai’s brow rose, and he remarked, “Most of the Skills are not tested against other strikers. It is unlikely anyone would penetrate a fortress staffed solely by elite forces.”

“It was what we had,” Rezkin stated unconcerned.

The striker tilted his head and asked, “Which Skills did you master?”

Rezkin gave him an odd look and said, “All of them, of course.”

The sudden, boisterous laughter made Tam jump. “You could not have mastered all of the Skills. No one masters all of them. You must have mastered only the Skills they presented. How many were there?”

Rezkin cocked his head. He had not considered that there might have been more Skills than those they taught him. “There are two hundred and fifty-eight Rules, twenty-seven major Skills, and sixty-three minor ones.”

Kai’s face dropped, and his brow furrowed. “There are only twenty-five major and forty-seven minor Skills, and it is impossible for any man to master them all.”

Rezkin shrugged and replied, “And, yet, I mastered more. My only memories are of training in weapons, combat, stealth, battle tactics and strategies, languages, economics, politics, healing, and a seemingly endless list of other Skills. Every waking moment was spent in training, and I am certain my waking moments far outnumbered those of the average outworlder. Until I left the fortress, I believed it was the way most individuals functioned, despite my training telling me otherwise.”

“Outworlder?” Tam asked, surprising himself with the question. He blinked and said, “I’ve heard you use that word often. What does it mean?”

“Anyone from outside the fortress,” Rezkin replied.

The striker frowned and remarked, “I do not believe the strikers could have taught all of those subjects in enough detail to be mastered, nor would you be able to master more than a few in your short number of years.”

“My Masters were extremely knowledgeable, and what they could not teach, they left to others to impart. A number of visitors were brought in over the years, specialists and experts in their respective fields. I did not understand or question my place or the amount of resources that went into my training. It was simply my reality, and it was normal. I never even considered what might have happened to those visitors when they left. I suppose I assumed they went home. Now, I am nearly certain they never had the opportunity to leave. Knowledge of my existence and that of the fortress was very carefully controlled. Everyone involved in my training for almost twenty years is dead – except one,” Rezkin explained.

“So, all of the strikers and your masters are dead?” Kai asked. To think that all of those strikers were alive all these years and they suddenly died just before Kai found out about their survival was frustrating. “Was there an attack on the fortress? How did they die?”

Rezkin cocked his head and watched Kai carefully for the man’s reaction to his next words. “I killed them,” he said plainly. The warrior’s calm demeanor and lack of remorse was disconcerting. With his coal black hair, pale complexion and icy blue eyes, he suddenly looked much more like a ruthless predator, cold and reptilian, than he did the young liege-lord.

Kai’s face paled, and his jaw worked soundlessly. Eventually, all that came out was, “What?”

Tam, too, stared in shock. The young man did not follow everything the two men were discussing, but he was intelligent enough to catch on to the majority. His friend had just admitted to killing more than a dozen men who had raised and trained him, men who were the elite forces of the kingdom.

“It was the week after I passed my final Skills test. Everyone was gathered in the courtyard. My master called me to the center of the gathering and gave me his last command. I was to kill the strikers,” Rezkin explained.

“S-So you just killed them?” Tam exclaimed. “All of them? Fifteen strikers?”

Kai huffed as he stood. He clenched his fists several times and ground his teeth before sitting back down. “Even if I believed you, which I am not certain that I do, I cannot imagine they died willingly.”

“No, they did not,” the young warrior agreed. He turned his eyes to Tam and said, “I truly had no choice, Tam. The order was issued in full hearing of the strikers. As soon as the word was given, they knew their lives were forfeit so long as I lived. The battle was brutal. Some of them killed each other by accident when their comrades were caught in the middle. I suppose, ultimately, I am responsible for their deaths. If I had not killed them, you can be assured they would have killed me.”

“And, if they had not fought back? Would you still have killed them?” asked Tam in horror.

Rezkin cocked his head and answered honestly. “At the time, yes. I was conditioned since birth to always obey my masters, Rule 258. I have killed many, many people on their orders, although Master Peider nearly always made it a point to inform me of their crimes for which they had been sentenced to death.”

Tam’s face scrunched in thought. “So, you were an executioner? They were all criminals?”

“I do not know all of their crimes, but as far as I know, none were innocent,” Rezkin replied. Tam looked momentarily relieved, which did not sit well with the warrior. He did not want to mislead his friend. An unreadable expression that looked almost like compassion passed over Rezkin’s face before he said, “Make no mistake, Tam. I killed because I was so ordered. Their guilt or innocence played no part in the matter.”

“You would have killed them regardless?” Tam asked.

“Whether they lived or died was not my decision to make. I was merely the weapon,” Rezkin explained.

Kai took a deep breath and turned to Tam. “Whether you call him executioner or soldier, the result is the same. Every man in the army will go to war and kill whomever his superiors tell him to kill. The ultimate decision rests with the king. If you joined the army, it would not be your decision whether or not to kill your foe, nor would it be your enemy’s decision as to whether or not to kill you. You would both be fighting and killing for someone else. As far as the strikers go, it sounds as though this master Rezkin speaks of gave the order, and after that, nothing could have been done to stop it.”

Rezkin nodded once in agreement but kept his eyes on Tam. His friend was having a difficult time accepting the reality, and Rezkin was not yet sure why. Tam was fairly innocent in his experiences, but the occurrences with the bandits and his understanding of the way of the military should have prepared him for this reality.

Tam felt Rezkin and Kai’s eyes on him. He glanced up and blinked away sweat or tears – he was not quite sure which. The young carpenter’s apprentice was shocked and confused and did not know how to react to such news.

“I-I don’t know what to say, Rez. It’s like you’re a completely different person than I thought you were. I mean, I knew all that lording you do with the other nobles was an act, but I thought I knew the real you. I thought you were good and honorable and relatively harmless, but now you say you are a cold-blooded killer – an assassin. How many have you killed, Rezkin? Dozens?”

Rezkin cocked his head in thought.

“Hundreds?” Tam prodded.

The young warrior shrugged and said, “I am certain it was less than a thousand, but I cannot say exactly. The masters probably kept records, though.”

Tam could not believe his ears. Rezkin stood so calm and unconcerned as he spoke of killing hundreds of people, as if it was just another workday. “Have you no remorse? How can you be so cruel?” Tam questioned with abhorrence.

“Do not mistake indifference for cruelty. I find no pleasure in killing or inflicting pain. As for the others? No, I have no remorse. It was my purpose, my training. I believed in the masters and knew their purpose was to train me. If they told me to kill, then I knew it needed to be done. That was the way of it, until that final day. I do not know why the strikers had to die, and I find myself questioning the order. Not that I could have done anything differently, except die. As I said, they would have killed me if I did not kill them first.”

“I still do not believe you killed fifteen strikers in a single battle,” Kai grumbled.

“I did not,” Rezkin replied. “I either directly or indirectly killed fourteen. One escaped during the battle.”

Realization suddenly dawned on Tam. “Since we met, you have said you were looking for someone – a comrade. It’s him, isn’t it? You’re looking for the fifteenth striker.”

“Yes, that is so,” Rezkin replied.

“Why? To finish what you started? You’re going to hunt him down and kill him?” Tam asked, his voice heavy with accusation.

“At first, that was my intent. Now, I do not know if I must kill him. I need answers, and I am left in a quandary. My final order from my master was to ‘Kill the strikers.’ One got away. Does that mean I must hunt him down and finish the job? Even more importantly, did my master mean that I should kill only the strikers who were present or all of the strikers?” Rezkin asked looking pointedly at Kai.

“What? You think you are supposed to kill all of the strikers? That would mean war against the kingdom,” Kai blurted.

“I honestly do not know the intent,” Rezkin replied.

“Why did you not ask your master to clarify?” Kai asked with disgust.

“I could not,” Rezkin said. “My masters killed each other during my battle with the strikers. Now, I am left to wonder – was there something wrong with the order? Was I supposed to kill the strikers? Why was the order given in the first place, and who was behind it? I know my master did not make the decision. Were the strikers guilty of something? Were they conspiring against the king? It is obvious Bordran set up my training, but for what reason I do not know. Did Caydean even know of it or was someone else issuing orders in place of the king?”

Rezkin shook his head and continued. “Something both you and General Marcum pointed out made me wonder. I always assumed the strikers were the targets. Anyone familiar with my training would know I was capable of completing the assignment, but someone else may have thought fifteen strikers would be sufficient to end me. Was I the true target? My master would have known I could prevail against the strikers given the right conditions, but the conditions he set up would have meant the greatest chance for my failure.

“There are simply too many questions, and I need answers,” Rezkin said, his frustration bleeding into his tone. “Right now, the only leads I have are Farson, who has disappeared, and the strikers. After speaking with you, Kai, I realize it is unlikely the majority of the strikers would have the information I seek.”

Kai grunted, “I would have to agree with you on that. This all sounds convoluted. You do not know who was giving the orders, why the orders were issued, or the identity of the actual target. What I do know, assuming I believe your story, is that fourteen of my brothers are dead and another is on the run from you.”

“Yes, that is true,” Rezkin replied as he studied the striker carefully.

“What is your intention toward me? I am a striker. Do you intend to kill me, too?” Kia probed.

Rezkin’s gaze was as firm as stone when he replied, “I have given my oath as your liege, Kai. Aside from that, I am no longer beholden to any master, as you well know. No matter your doubts about me, do not doubt my word. I do not give it lightly.”

“Wait,” Tam interrupted. “How are you Striker Kai’s liege. I thought strikers answered only to the king.”

Rezkin hissed an exasperated sigh as he looked back at the striker. If Kai were going to openly rebel against his own oath, now would be the time to do it. More importantly, the young warrior watched the man for the subtle nuances that indicated he might betray Rezkin in secret.

Kai stared at the floor for a long moment before he finally looked up at his chosen king. Rezkin had been surprisingly open and honest about his actions and motives. He made no excuses, nor did he feign remorse. In truth, the striker could not fault Rezkin for his part in the other strikers’ deaths. Even lacking the details, Kai could see the young man had been backed into a corner. It was kill or be killed. He begrudgingly admitted that he actually did believe the young man’s story. Rezkin did not seem like the kind of idiot who would boast about killing more than a dozen of the king’s elite warriors if it were not true.

The striker raised his head and met Rezkin’s eyes. His bearing was resolute and determined. Kai kept his eyes on his liege as he answered the young man’s question. “Rezkin is my king. I have sworn unto him my fealty, and by my oath I stand.”

“Your king? I don’t understand. Rezkin is no king,” Tam blurted with confusion.

“What you do not know, young man, is that King Rezkin does have a rightful claim to the throne of Ashai,” Kai asserted.

Rezkin shook his head and waited for Kai to continue on his rant. Kai explained to Tam how King Bordran bequeathed the Sheyalin blades on the young warrior and granted him complete autonomy and authority within the kingdom. Tam followed along with the striker’s story, finding each word more unbelievable than the last. Kai was convinced that Rezkin was his king. Tam wondered if the man was a bit cracked. As the older man spoke, Tam glanced at Rezkin to gauge his reaction. Rezkin looked bored.

Tam frowned. When Rezkin acted the noble, his reactions were outrageous, sometimes even flamboyant, but at least they were understandable. He had thought he understood the stoic warrior, the solid, dependable healer that was his friend. Now, he thought he understood little about the man. He certainly did not understand Rezkin’s lack of concern with regard to killing and being declared someone’s king.

When Kai finished explaining his position on the matter, Tam found himself staring at Rezkin’s swords. Rezkin noted Tam’s point of interest and walked closer to the lantern. He slowly slid each of the blades from their sheaths and turned them in the light. The flickering yellow flame seemed to slide in amongst the blue and silver swirls to dance in seductive jubilation. Tam was mesmerized by the hypnotic illusion. Berating himself for losing focus, he tore his eyes from the liquid silver blades and stared at the man he called friend.

“Where do I fit into all of this Rezkin? Everyone seems to serve some purpose for you. I am smart enough to see your manipulation of the nobles. You need Kai for his information and skills, and I can imagine your need for the soldiers and the mage and even Reaylin, who turns out to be a healer. It seems you can draw service from anyone you want. But, what do you hope to gain from me? I am nothing special.”

Rezkin sheathed his swords and furrowed his brow as he said, “You are my friend, Tam. As such, I will honor and protect you – you and Frisha and Jimson.”

“Am I? Am I your friend?” Tam asked with accusation.

“Of course you are. It has been so since first we met,” Rezkin replied. He cocked his head and inquired, “Do you now doubt it?”

“I don’t know what to think, Rezkin. It’s as though everything I thought I knew of you is a lie. How can I be friends with someone like you?” Tam blurted without considering the impact of his words.

Rezkin felt the familiar tightening of his chest. He was coming to realize that the manifestation of pain was a physical response to a negative emotional response. Tam saw the change come over the warrior. It was as if a cloud had descended to envelope the man in an invisible cloak of detachment. Where before Rezkin had been open and straightforward, he was now distant and cold.

“I have never lied to you, Tam,” Rezkin stated, his voice flat and emotionless. “When you did not know me, you were quick to claim me as friend. Now that you do know me, you believe you were mistaken.”

Tam shifted uncomfortably but said nothing. He was suddenly afraid. Rezkin had taken him into his confidence, and Tam had thrown it back in his face, despite his earlier assertion on deck that he was a loyal friend. As he considered his situation, he realized that Rezkin was the kind of man who would have no compunctions with solving a problem by killing the source. Would Rezkin kill him if he rejected the friendship? Tam’s mouth had gone dry, but he forcefully swallowed the tight knot that was forming in his throat, anyway.

Rezkin considered the imminent loss of Tam as his friend. If Tam rejected him, then Frisha would surely follow. Would Jimson reject him, as well, if the man knew who he really was? If Rezkin lost all of his friends, then he would have no purpose. Had he dishonored his friends in some way simply by being who he was? If that was the case, it seemed as though Rule 1 was in direct conflict with the nature of his training – with his entire existence.

When Tam did not respond, Rezkin continued quietly, “I will not dismiss you so quickly. I will give you time to come to your own conclusion. Must I prove myself to you? What more can I do to prove my intentions toward you? Toward Frisha?”

Gathering the threads of his courage, Tam said, “It’s not about your intentions, Rezkin. It’s about who you are. You’re a killer! Hundreds, Rezkin! You’re a mass murderer!”

“Hey, now!” Kai interrupted. “Be fair. Is an executioner or a soldier a mass murderer?”

Tam scowled and shouted back, “That is not the point!”

“Well, I think it is,” Kai remarked, “if you are going to judge him for his actions when performing his duties.”

Tam shook his head. His fear and shock had compounded into anger. He said, “I just don’t know if I can be friends with someone like you, Rezkin. You’re not the man I thought you were.”

“I see,” Rezkin stated flatly.

“What now, Rezkin? Will you kill me if I refuse you?” Tam snapped. He had not intended to voice the concern, but now that it was out, he longed to hear a refusal.

Rezkin said nothing as he stared at his one-time friend. Tam’s earlier fervent declaration of friendship and loyalty seemed to have dissolved and blown away on a nonexistent wind in the stifling cargo hold. He felt anger boiling up at Tam’s questioning of his honor but managed to bury the feelings as he would when facing battle. Perhaps he had misinterpreted the nature of friendship. Rule 1 only guaranteed that his friends could trust and depend on him. It said nothing about the opposite being true. It was not Tam’s failing, then. It was his.

Rezkin sighed and said, “No, Tam. I will not kill you. It seems I misinterpreted the nature of our relationship. I thought that I could honor your desire for adventure by including you in my own. I did not consider that you might object to me, personally. You are my friend, and I will continue to protect and honor you as such, even if you reject me. If you wish for me to do so from a distance or to remove myself from your presence altogether, I will honor your wishes.”

Rezkin suddenly wanted to be away from the confines of the small, stuffy space. He looked over at Kai who was scowling at the other young man and said, “I think we have said enough for today. Neither of you will speak of this to anyone.” To Tam he said, “The fewer people who know, the safer it is for everyone.”

Tam scowled and said, “I wish I didn’t even know.”

Rezkin snapped his mouth shut and nodded curtly. He knew for certain, now, that he had made a mistake. He had felt some unnatural drive to include Tam in the details of his life. For some reason, he had wanted the young man to know who he really was, and he had convinced himself that it was in Tam’s best interest. Rezkin turned and strode from the small space, quickly disappearing into the darkness. Kai and Tam followed with the lantern but found that within a few steps they could no longer find the young warrior, despite the fact that there was only one passageway.

Kai suddenly turned and slammed Tam against the wall of the passage. He held the smaller man by the throat as he gritted between his teeth, “What, by the Maker and the Hells, is wrong with you?”

“What…are you…talking about?” Tam choked out through a constricted airway.

“That is the deadliest man in Ashai, perhaps even the world,” Kai hissed. “He is a Sword Bearer, entrusted with the authority and responsibility of the entire kingdom. He seeks answers so that he can fight against the wrongs that have been committed both against him and by him on someone else’s command. From what I have seen and heard of him, he fights for those who cannot fight for themselves, he speaks in elegant prose of the obligations of nobles toward the commoners they govern, and insists on the accountability of all men of power, including the king.

“I have seen no evidence that he is deserving of your foul treatment and inglorious accusations. Do you think a man such as he trusts easily? I doubt he has ever revealed so much to anyone. He included me for the sake of the information and assistance I can provide, but as you so rightly pointed out, you are nothing special. What does he gain from trusting you with such information? I will tell you. He thought only to keep his friend in confidence, and you scorned him. Had any friend of mine been so hateful, he would never have walked away of his own volition.”

“You know nothing,” Tam spat. He was angry, particularly so because he could not find fault in Kai’s words. “You speak of him in such high praise, but have you ever considered why a man like him would have any need of me as a friend? What use does some super elite soldier-assassin have for a friend like me? What sense does it make for a king to befriend a carpenter’s apprentice?”

“Is that what this is about? Your ego? Is your petulance due to some pathetic perception of inferiority? How do you select your friends? Do you choose them for their power and influence? Do you find those without to be unworthy?”

“No, of course not,” Tam argued weakly.

“Then why should Rezkin?” Kai asked with irritation. “Do you think he had friends in that brutal fortress he calls home? To be honest, you are a more logical choice of friend than any wealthy noble or high-ranking official. Men of power will want him dead. If not, then they will try to use him until he loses his usefulness, and then they will want him dead. You…you are not a threat. Or perhaps, you only wish to use him, as well? Would you take his protection and lessons and give nothing in return?”

Tam shoved back at Kai to no avail. The man was built of solid rock. “I was scared, okay! I just…I don’t know what to think. I’ve never had to deal with anything like this. At home, it was only a big deal if we were running low on wood or the sand barrel tipped over. You two were talking about killing people and usurping the throne! What do you care, anyway?”

Kai leaned in closer and spoke through clenched teeth, “Rezkin is my liege, my king. At first, I chose him mostly because he was not Caydean; but I have since come to realize there is much to respect and admire in the young warrior. I would have no man dishonor him the way you did.”

The striker released the young man roughly and brushed past him toward the steps leading to the upper deck. Tam was left standing in the darkness with the flickering lantern. He sunk to the floor and buried his head between his knees. He allowed himself to cry. It was all too much. He achingly longed for the simple life of a carpenter. Perhaps he was not cut out for adventuring.

Chapter 10

Rezkin’s muscles were tense, and he needed to think over all of the information he garnered from Kai. It had not been as helpful as he had hoped, but it was more than he previously possessed. As he strode up the steps and across the deck, he grabbed the first viable weapon he found. It was comprised of a long pole about his height with a hand-length hook attached to one end. The crewmen used the pole hook to grab and guide ropes, but Rezkin intended to use it in an entirely different manner. Many of his training sessions at the fortress revolved around him entering an area without a weapon and using whatever he had at hand to defend himself and defeat his attackers. Most of the objects he found were far less suited to operating as weapons than the pole hook, so he felt himself lucky this day.

As he made his way to the quarterdeck, he passed Shiela who was seated on a stool beneath a frilly parasol that matched her daisy yellow dress. Her unobtrusive maid was crouched at her side with a vacant stare. Despite the steady breeze blowing across the river, Shiela was waving a lacy yellow fan in front of her flushed face. Although the evenings were becoming more bearable, the summer’s heat was still sweltering during the day. Rezkin could not fathom why the woman would willingly suffer beneath a few dozen pounds of fabric just for the sake of fashion.

“Lord Rezkin, how good it is to see you. You are looking a bit tense. Perhaps some feminine company could relieve some of the strain?” she proposed with a flutter of her lashes and an undisguised perusal of his form.

Rezkin did not stop walking as he delivered his reply, “Thank you, Lady Shiela, but no. I have other means of working out my tension.”

Shiela pouted as she rose and followed after him. “Are you to grace us with a show, then?” she asked.

Rezkin did not like having the woman at his back, but he decided it was unlikely she would attempt to attack him with her parasol. He considered the techniques required for use of such a weapon and the resultant damage. Perhaps I should ask to borrow one to test the methods, he thought. He immediately tossed the idea aside. He did not think Shiela would be willing to subject one of her lacy luxuries to his training regime.

“I am not a performer, Lady Shiela. I go to train and nothing more,” Rezkin replied.

“Yes, but I imagine even your training is entertaining,” Shiela remarked. “Will I get to see your enchanted blades?”

“No, I do not intend to practice with the swords,” Rezkin replied. His voice was calm and impassive, despite his rising frustration.

“Then you are to practice with that?” the woman asked incredulously as she spied the pole hook. “Is that even a weapon?”

“Anything can be used as a weapon. This is not so different from a staff or spear.” Rezkin stopped abruptly and turned to face the woman. Shiela was not expecting the sudden cessation and nearly collided with the handsome man. Rezkin looked down into the woman’s startled eyes and said, “Unless you would lend me your parasol. I am considering a number of interesting and unique techniques for such a weapon.”

Shiela’s brow furrowed as she petulantly replied, “Lord Rezkin, my parasol is not a weapon. Have you not enough sharp and heavy things with which to play?”

“The pole hook it is, then,” Rezkin remarked as the item in question appeared between them. Rezkin turned and stepped onto the quarterdeck. Palis and Waylen were having a discussion complete with waving hand motions but stopped when the Swordmaster approached.

“May I?” Rezkin asked as he hefted the pole hook before him and motioned to the surrounding deck. Palis and Waylen both looked at him quizzically but moved to the side with interest. Rezkin removed his doublet and made to lay it over a railing, but Shiela skittered forward and took it from him with a gratuitous smile.

Rezkin ignored the curious onlookers and focused on his techniques. He had trained all his life to develop Skills he thought were necessary for everyone to learn, and only since leaving the fortress did he come to realize he was unique. It seemed obvious, now, that King Bordran had a plan for him, and that plan did not seem to have anything to do with his purpose as stated in Rule 1. Aside from that, his friends, who were the focus of Rule 1, did not seem to appreciate who he was. Why would King Bordran desire for his elite warrior to protect and honor a couple of commoners and a simple soldier with no major House ties? Even though Frisha had been named the general’s heir, she held no real power or influence. She could not inherit the general’s position, and once she married, the general’s wealth and estate would be absorbed into her husband’s House.

The young warrior was more frustrated now than ever. Brandt had referred to his upbringing as harsh, but Rezkin had always believed it to be normal. He knew no other way. Now, he was starting to see that there were multitudes of other ways in which people were raised. He had a scholarly understanding of relationships among various groups of people, including the family unit, but it had always been a foreign concept to him. Even though he knew the facts, he had always had difficulty accepting them as a reality, and it had been difficult to imagine a life lived any way but his.

As Rezkin exercised, the part of his mind that was constantly monitoring his surroundings noted a number of people coming and going. They came to watch for a while and then left again. Most had tried at one point or another to engage him in conversation, but he continued to ignore them, saying nothing. Shiela got tired of holding his doublet long ago, and it now lay wrapped over a rail, as he originally intended. His dripping shirt hung beside it, having been discarded after a few hours, as it was drenched with sweat.

Rezkin worked through form after form, and when he was finished with the pole hook, he moved on to unarmed combat techniques. When he was finished with those, he found a thick rope and tied a heavy ring-shaped weight to the end. The rope darted out and spun around as he twisted and turned. After the rope and weight, he plucked up a couple of wooden shafts about the length of his arm. The warrior worked his way through the midday meal and into the evening. Someone placed a water bucket and cup to one side, but no one attempted to disturb the focused warrior any longer.

By the evening meal, Rezkin was famished. He dredged up a few buckets of cold river water and scrubbed himself clean before changing into fresh clothes. He forewent the doublet and breeches and adorned himself in a more comfortable pair of pants and a well-made but plain tunic. First impressions had already been made, and the others considered him to be a powerful noble with idealistic views. Now, they knew him to be a dangerous noble, for surely no commoner would have had the resources to achieve what he had.

When the young warrior entered the mess, voices hushed and eyes stared. Rezkin was used to people staring at him. He had been observed nearly every waking moment of every day. Men had watched him and evaluated his every move, his every expression, his carriage and gate, always looking for error and weakness, seeking that moment for derision and correction or outright attack.

Rezkin realized during his exercise that he had become complacent. He mistakenly thought that because these people did not live to his standard, they would not hold him to it either. He had attempted to fit in and adjust to their society, but it seemed that, unless he was actively playing a role, he was not meant to meld. Just because he now lived among the outworlders did not mean that he was one of them.

The warrior sat at his regular seat and nodded a greeting but said nothing otherwise. The masters had said it was usually better to allow others to speak first. Keeping silent meant more opportunity to listen and less opportunity to reveal anything. Rezkin had already revealed too much to Tam, in breach of Rule 3, and had failed at Rule 1 as a result. Aside from his desire to find Farson, Rezkin had not thought he was on a mission when he set out from the fort. After speaking with Kai and considering the manner in which he had been trained, Rezkin now realized that his entire life was the mission. He needed to stay diligent and compliant with the Rules at all times. Rezkin kept silent and looked at no one in particular as he ate. He listened carefully to the subdued whispers, which, it turned out, were mostly about him and his odd behavior. People wanted to know why he was upset.

Kai glared at Tam every time the young man looked up from his plate, so Tam found his food to be extremely interesting this evening. Frisha noted Tam’s odd behavior and stared at her friend questioningly. It was just one more reason the young man considered his potatoes to be particularly glorious.

Finishing his meal in record time, Rezkin’s eyes glanced over each of his companions, not staying on anyone long enough to connect. The others, sensitive to the warrior’s detached mood, were attuned to the man’s every move.

Rezkin said, “Striker, you have been remiss in your training for several months. You may join me on the quarter deck in an hour, if you so desire.” It was a loosely masked command.

Without missing a beat, Kai responded, “Yes, my lord.”

Around the room, brows furrowed and mouths turned down at the striker’s subservience. Rezkin had already realized that Kai was going act however Kai wanted to act, and there was nothing Rezkin could do about it, short of killing the man. Unfortunately, Kai could still be useful. The young warrior decided he was just lucky the man was not calling him king in front of the others. Thus far, Rezkin had been able to acquire a decent level of respect and approval from the nobles, but if that was not enough to keep them quiet about anything that should not be discussed, he could always resort to threats and blackmail.

Rezkin nodded once and then turned to Wesson and said, “Journeyman, how goes your training with Reaylin?”

Wesson shifted uncomfortably and glanced at the woman in question furtively. “Ah, well…”

Reaylin stood up and shouted, “I won’t do it! I told you I am not a healer!”

Rezkin stood slowly and appeared to loom over the tiny woman, despite the fact that she was several seats removed and on the other side of the table. “You will,” Rezkin commanded. Reaylin started to protest when Rezkin continued, “You think you are a warrior, but you refuse to accept one of your most notable talents. A true warrior hones every Skill available to him or her. You do not discard a natural talent simply because you view it as unworthy of your attention. A true warrior does what is necessary without a care for the opinions of others. You view healers as weak, and you are truly a weak healer. A true warrior harbors no weakness. You will take what you see as weakness and make it a strength or you are no warrior.”

Reaylin shied away from the imposing man she typically admired. His eyes were cold and hard, his tone unrelenting. “I-…”

“You will train,” Rezkin ordered.

Reaylin clamped her mouth shut and nodded with wet eyes. Rezkin had never treated her so harshly. At times, like when she kissed him, he had been kind and understanding. She did not like that he had turned his foul mood on her.

“If you give the mage any trouble, we will have words again,” Rezkin asserted.

Reaylin shrugged one shoulder and retorted smartly, “They’re just words.”

The warrior narrowed his eyes at the stubborn young woman. “You would not like to see how I solve problems without them.” Reaylin bit her lip and shrank back into her seat. Eyes were wide all around as the warrior stalked from the small space into the waning light of the evening.

Frisha turned an angry scowl on the young man across from her. “What did you do, Tam?” she heatedly asked.

Tam frowned and said, “What makes you think I did anything?”

The woman narrowed her eyes and said, “I’ve seen Rezkin upset before, but this is by far the worst. I can tell from the striker’s anger that it has something to do with you. What did you do to Rezkin?”

“I didn’t do anything,” Tam argued.

Kai slammed a fist on the table and said, “Let no lies and half truths spew from your vile mouth, Tamarin Blackwater. Your disrespect and accusations were enough to set any man on a warpath. Had Rezkin not claimed you as friend despite your remarks, you would be resting in the scum beneath the river, and I would have felt no remorse in putting you there.”

“I am entitled to my own opinion,” Tam shouted defensively. “I’m not like you, Striker. I do not see his…” he paused as he noted the number of ears in the room and said, “actions as so forgivable.”

“There is nothing to forgive! He was performing a duty – a duty assigned to him by the king! When your king gives you an order, you follow through or suffer for treason!” Kai replied with vehemence. “The fact that he has done so well should be commended. Any warrior could only dream of achieving what he has, and you scorn him!”

“What are you two talking about?” Frisha demanded.

“It’s nothing, Frisha! Just let it go,” Tam insisted as he lurched from his seat and stumbled through the door.

“Someone needs to give that boy a lesson in respect,” Kai grumbled as he got to his feet. “I have training,” he mumbled in explanation before he left.

Waylen turned wide eyes to the other nobles and asked, “Rezkin works for the king?”

The young nobles glanced at each other uncertainly before the baron finally remarked, “If the young man is truly a Swordmaster, then it is not unlikely the king called upon him to perform some duty. Considering what swords are designed to do, and that young man’s reaction just now, I think it is safe to assume Rezkin was ordered to kill someone.”

“You mean the king had Rezkin murder someone?” Frisha asked in disbelief.

The baron shook his head and said, “No, my dear. There are certain protocols that prevent the king from ordering someone’s death without cause, noble and commoner alike. For example, the king cannot have a duke killed simply because he does not like the man. He must present evidence that the duke was guilty of some serious transgression. The peerage would not stand for it otherwise. Commoners, as individuals, have less influence, so their protections against mistreatment are fewer. If a king mistreats his subjects too often, though, it can lead to rebellion.”

“Oh, come now, Lord Nasque. We have all heard the stories of the Shadow Knight. It is common knowledge that the king employs his own assassin,” Tieran scoffed.

The baron held the young lord in his gaze and firmly stated, “It is common conjecture, Lord Tieran, born of fear and fantasy. Anyone stating otherwise could find himself the subject of scrutiny by the king. If the king has such a man, it would probably be best not to speak of it.”

Tieran, catching the poorly veiled warning replied, “Yes, I see your point.”

Lord Nasque shook his head and said, “Besides, young Lord Rezkin does appear to be a formidable warrior, but he hardly seems like the messenger of the king’s Dark Tidings.” The baron chuckled and remarked, “I mean, Lord Rezkin is a little too obvious, is it not? If I had to speculate, I would say it is more likely the young lord was called upon to dispatch a criminal on the run or some such business.”

“But, why Rez?” Frisha asked. “Why not call upon the army or a striker or a knight?”

Tilting his head, Lord Nasque replied, “It is not so uncommon, especially in the more remote areas, for a lord or other official to call upon a capable man to carry out such orders. The kingdom is vast and resources are limited. I have made such requests of capable men, myself. The order probably did not even come directly from the king. From whence does Lord Rezkin hail?”

“Uh, he said he came from some fort in the north, but I don’t know the name,” Frisha replied with embarrassment, since she still did not know the name of Rezkin’s home.

“Ah, well, there you see. The north is largely wild and untamed woodland and mountains. It would not be unreasonable to call upon a man who is familiar with the terrain to perform such a duty, especially if he is known to be a formidable warrior. I am sure he was paid well for his services in addition to having the privilege of carrying out the king’s justice,” the baron explained.

“But, why would Tam be so appalled?” Frisha asked with concern and confusion.

The baron sighed and said, “He is young, Lady Frisha. You are all young. You all have not seen the darkness that lurks in the souls of men. You are unfamiliar with the terrible deeds such villains conduct behind closed doors and in dark shadows. I, myself, have presided over a few cases that filled my wandering mind with such terror they left me wanting in the night for dreamless slumber. It is the responsibility of all good and capable men to rid the world of this malignity, lest it fester and spread to infect the minds and hearts of innocent neighbors, as such evil is prone to do. I believe your young Master Tamarin considers only the deed and not the cause or consequence.”

“I understand what you’re saying, but Tam is not so innocent,” Frisha protested. “He killed a man, you know. We were attacked by bandits on our journey south. The man would have killed Captain Jimson had Tam not gotten him first.”

The baron’s brows rose. “Did he? Well, then it might be that some of the anger Master Tamarin directs toward Rezkin is anger he is feeling for his own actions. It is not easy to kill a man for the first time. Most people continue to feel guilt for a very long time, sometimes the rest of their lives, even if they were justified in taking the life.”

“Oh, I had not thought of that,” Frisha said softly. She had not really spoken to Tam about the man he killed. Tam never talked about it, so neither did she. She could not imagine what her friend was enduring, and to be honest, her discomfort with the subject had left her in avoidance.

“Perhaps it would be best if he spoke with someone who has had a similar experience,” the baron remarked as he looked around at the faces that surrounded him. All of the other young nobles looked away or shook their heads. None of them had been in any combat. Their martial skills had resided solely in training and dueling rings. “Well, perhaps one of the soldiers or guards, then. I have not directly killed a man, but as my post requires, I have ordered more than one execution. I cannot say the feelings would be the same, though.”

“I-…I could speak to him,” a low, soft voice said from behind. Frisha turned to see Wesson shifting uncomfortably, unwilling to meet anyone’s gaze.

“You?” Frisha exclaimed in surprise. The beautiful, sweet, innocent-looking mage shrugged slightly and ducked his head as his eyes avoided everyone. Noticing Wesson’s discomfort, she decided not to pry and simply said, “Thank you, Wesson. If you think you can help Tam, I would be most grateful.” Pain-filled blue-green eyes met her own. Wesson nodded and quickly looked away.

Frisha looked around and noticed that no one seemed interested in eating any longer. Whatever food was left had cooled and congealed into an unappetizing slop. The young woman bobbed a slight, awkward curtsy and said, “Thank you, Lord Nasque. You’ve given me much to think on.”

“Of course, my dear. I, for one, will turn in early and perhaps enjoy a bit of reading before sleep claims me,” the baron remarked as he rose from his seat and exited the mess.

Frisha and the others slowly trickled out into the fresh evening air. Even from the cabin where she stood, Frisha could hear the clomping of hooves across the floorboards and knew that Rezkin was running Pride on a lead around the main mast. The ship had little room for a battle charger to exercise, but everyone recognized the need, since the prickly, short-tempered beast became unruly if forced to endure too much tedium. When the stallion nearly shattered the stall two nights in a row, the captain finally ordered the main deck cleared for a short time twice a day, allowing Rezkin to keep the beast satisfied. Frisha once inquired as to how the soldiers and strikers traveled with their mounts by sea for long periods, and Rezkin had informed her that usually a few mages traveled with them who were skilled in life magic and could soothe the beasts. Unfortunately, Wesson had little talent for that particular type of magic, which was what led him into their company in the first place.

The young woman made her way to her cabin with the intent of collecting a few necessities before she visited the bathing chamber, which was a space only slightly larger than a wardrobe. It contained a simple metal tub with a drain that released used water back into the river. Unfortunately, one still had to draw up a number of buckets to fill the thing, and the water was cold and only as clean as the river.

When she arrived in her room, she was surprised to see Tam sitting on her bed waiting for her. “Tam, what are you doing here?” she inquired.

“I need to talk to you,” her friend replied.

“Is this about Rezkin?” Frisha asked.

Tam sighed loudly and hissed, “Yes, but can you bar the door? I don’t want to be interrupted, and it’s best to keep things between just us.”

Frisha glanced back at the door uncertainly and said, “Um, I don’t know. It’s not proper…”

“Gah! I don’t care if it’s proper. This is important, Frisha,” Tam exclaimed.

Frisha released a heavy sigh and said, “Fine, but only for a short while.” After closing and barring the door, she strode over and took a seat on Reaylin’s bed. It occurred to her that this was probably the same situation in which Rezkin and Reaylin had found themselves before that little drama.

“What is it, Tam? I know you are upset with Rezkin, but I don’t know why,” she prodded.

“It’s-…It’s complicated, and I can’t tell you everything. I just don’t think you should marry him,” Tam stated.

“What? Why?” Frisha asked with alarm.

“Look, I found out some things today – things I can’t talk about; but I need you to trust me when I tell you that Rezkin is not the man you think he is,” he pleaded.

“That’s not good enough, Tam. Just yesterday you were bragging about his conviction and today you are suddenly rejecting him,” she remarked. “It’s my life, and I want more information if I am to make such a decision.”

Tam growled in frustration and said, “That’s exactly what he said.”

“What who said?” Frisha asked.

“Rezkin. He said he didn’t push the issue of marriage with the general because you didn’t have enough knowledge to make an informed decision,” Tam replied.

“And he’s right. What do you know that’s so important?” Frisha asked.

“It’s just…okay…you see, this morning he offered me a job,” Tam began.

“Who did?” Frisha asked.

“Rezkin! It’s who we’re talking about,” Tam replied with irritation.

“But, what kind of job would Rezkin have for you?” Frisha asked with confusion.

Tam shrugged and said, “None, really. He thinks I don’t really want to be a soldier and that I’d rather be an adventurer.” The young man ran a hand through his hair and continued, “And, he’s right. So, he offered to take me along on his own adventures and train me, and said he would pay me for doing whatever errands he needs done.”

Frisha’s eyes grew wide as she excitedly exclaimed, “Wow, Tam, that’s a really generous deal. I mean, it’s not every day a Dual-Blade Swordmaster comes along and offers to pay you to…well, to be his friend.”

Tam’s mouth hung open as he considered the prospect. It really was a dream come true – until he found out more about the man for whom he would be working.

The young man shook his head vigorously and said, “No, you don’t understand. I can’t be his friend!”

“I can’t believe you just said that, Tam! Rezkin is already our friend! He has done so much for us and asked nothing in return. He saved our lives, Tam!” Frisha argued.

“You’re not listening, Frisha! He’s not who you think he is. He’s done things – terrible things. He’s killed people! A lot of people!” Tam hissed with overwhelming strain and frustration.

“I know he’s killed people, Tam. I’ve seen him kill people. I’ve seen you kill someone,” Frisha calmly replied.

Tam gripped his hair and huffed loudly. “It’s not the same. That was a battle, and those men would have killed us if we didn’t kill them. Rezkin is more like…like an executioner.” Frisha shivered at the thought as tears welled in her eyes. “You see?” Tam asked. “It’s not so understandable.”

“Oh, I understand. How terrible it must have been for him. Can you imagine, Tam? What must it be like to have such a job? Day after day, you snuff the life out of living beings, human beings,” she said sadly.

“So, you understand what I’m saying?” Tam asked.

Frisha shook her head and said, “No, I don’t. Someone has to do it, Tam. Rezkin is more capable than most, and there are some really terrible people out there. Should they be left to steal and murder and rape innocent people simply because good men don’t wish to kill? Can you imagine what the world would be like if those evil creatures were allowed to live and walk amongst us freely? What if some of those men were on this ship?”

Tam looked at his friend with disbelief. “What are you talking about? I’m saying that Rezkin kills people and you’re talking about fantastical stories.”

“They’re not stories, Tam. It’s real life. What do you think happens to the murderers and rapists who are caught?” Frisha asked.

“They’re thrown in a dungeon or executed,” Tam remarked with a roll of his eyes.

“And what of the man who has to carry out those executions? Did you ever think of him? What must his life be like?” Frisha asked.

“I don’t know, and I surely don’t wish to find out,” Tam stated firmly.

“But you are, Tam. You just said that Rezkin has had to perform such acts. He is your friend, and you should consider what you know of who he is rather than judging him so harshly for performing a duty in which he had little say,” Frisha chided. “How many people ever thank the executioner for helping to keep them safe? Most people, like you, want to pretend he does not exist.”

“They could just keep them all in the dungeons,” Tam replied weakly.

Frisha rolled her eyes and said, “Yes, and in a few years, the dungeons would be filled and we would need to build more dungeons, all the while good men work tirelessly in the fields to feed evil men in cells. Should we keep them in there forever? Do you expect them to change their ways? How long will it take a rapist or murderer to realize the error of his ways? Five years? Twenty? And, how will you know he has changed? More importantly, how will rotting in a dungeon cell with other evil men convince them of the sanctity of life?”

Tam sighed heavily, “Fine, I see your point. But, Rezkin told me plainly that the people’s guilt or innocence had no bearing on his actions. He said he killed only because he was ordered to do so.”

Frisha shrugged and replied, “Is it the executioner’s job to judge a man’s deeds? I think not. He merely carries out the sentence as ordered by someone else.”

“Are you telling me that you could marry someone like that? Someone who goes out and kills people because someone told him to?” Tam asked with incredulity.

“My uncle is the General of the Army of Ashai, Tam. How many people do you think he has killed because someone told him to? How many people has he ordered someone else to kill? Tam, this is not an ideal world. Sometimes people kill because they have to, and sometimes they have to kill because someone of power orders it. It’s always your choice whether or not you carry out the orders, but there may be consequences for refusing. Would you accept the consequences of refusing to kill someone you knew was guilty of some terrible offense?”

“What do you mean?” Tam asked.

“What if a man raped and murdered your mother? Would you execute the man if the magistrate ordered it?” Frisha asked.

“Of course. I might even kill him without the magistrate’s consent,” Tam remarked.

“And, what if it was not your mother he raped and killed. What if it was the baker’s wife?” Frisha asked.

Tam shifted uncomfortably, “Well, I don’t know. I mean, he should die, but I don’t know that I would be willing to do it.”

“But you agree that someone should,” Frisha replied. “Do you not see? Someone has to step up and fight for the innocent victims, for those who could not protect themselves. Someone has to enact justice and prevent others from succumbing to the same fate. Does that not sound like something the Rezkin you knew from yesterday, that man of such conviction, would do?”

Tam hung his head in thought. Where before he had been so certain, he was now questioning his own thoughts and words. He had a creeping suspicion he had been wrong.

Frisha’s voice was soft and compassionate as she said, “I think, Tam, that such a man should be respected and honored, maybe even receive a commendation.”

“Oh, he has definitely received a commendation,” Tam muttered.

“Has he?” Frisha asked with a bright smile. She was pleased that Rezkin had been recognized for his efforts.

Tam nodded and whispered, “By King Bordran, himself.”

Frisha’s grin broadened and she said, “Then, I know I am right. If King Bordran recognized the honor in Rezkin’s actions, then surely you can as well.” Frisha’s brow furrowed in thought, and she remarked, “But, Rezkin is so young, and King Bordran died years ago. How could he have already been of service?”

Her friend shrugged. He could not say all that he knew for risk of putting Frisha in danger. Tam did not doubt Rezkin’s warning of the risk associated with knowing him. He said cryptically, “I think Rezkin is something of a prodigy. He was already in service to the king for a while.”

“Well, he must be a prodigy to be a Dual-Blade Swordmaster already,” she remarked. Her eyes saddened, and she looked at Tam seriously. “You know you really hurt him, Tam. Did you tell him you wouldn’t be his friend?”

Tam looked at his feet as he nodded, “That and more.”

“Oh, Tam,” she said with sympathy. “I know I’ve messed up a few times, myself, but I’ve never seen him like he was today.”

“I know. I think it’s worse because he only shared his story with me after I assured him of my friendship and loyalty. I was even a little offended, at the time, when he sought my assurances,” Tam explained. He sighed heavily and said, “He finally trusted me enough to let me in, and I failed him.”

“You have to make it right, Tam,” Frisha ordered.

Tam nodded and said, “I know. I just don’t know how. I still don’t feel completely comfortable with him. He scares me. But, I do understand that what he did was probably necessary. I don’t know all of the details, so I really can’t say. That’s the point, though, isn’t it? I am not the magistrate or a lord or the king. It’s not my job to say whether it was necessary.” He sighed and said, “I was really harsh.”

“What did he say?” Frisha asked.

Tam buried his head in his hands with his elbows resting on his knees. “He said he would continue to consider me a friend and offer his protection even if I decided otherwise.”

Frisha was angry that Tam had hurt Rezkin so badly, but she also understood. She had made plenty of mistakes, herself. “It’s hard, isn’t it? Living up to someone else’s expectations when the bar is set so high.”

“How is it that he is always right?” Tam asked irritably.

“I don’t think he’s always right,” Frisha remarked thoughtfully. “I think he always treats us with respect and courtesy, regardless of whether or not he agrees with us. He never lets his emotions control him. I know that whenever I mess up, it’s usually when I’m upset.”

Tam nodded agreement and said, “I was really scared and confused. I didn’t know how to react, so I pushed him away and spoke in anger.”

“I think he’ll forgive you if you speak to him,” Frisha stated.

“Probably,” Tam agreed, “but will he ever trust me again?”

“Don’t let it fester, Tam. Go and speak to him,” Frisha replied.

“I will. I think he is sparring with Kai right now, though. I’ll wait until they’re finished,” Tam answered.

Frisha released a humorless laugh and said, “I can’t believe he’s training again. He was at it all day. How can a man endure such a brutal regimen for so long?”

Tam grunted and remarked, “I’m not convinced he is fully human. I completely understand, now, why my body does not look like his, nor will it ever.”

Frisha flushed at the thought of Rezkin’s body. She had spent quite a bit of time admiring it throughout the day while he practiced half undressed. She would have felt more shame had it not been for the fact that everyone else had done the same. Rezkin, for his part, did not even notice the attention, for which Frisha was grateful, since Shiela and Reaylin made absolutely no attempt to disguise their approval. Frisha nearly burst into laughter at one point when the young men were discussing the fact that Rezkin had taut, defined muscles in places where they had not known muscles existed.

Tam left Frisha’s quarters feeling both relieved and utterly miserable. He had no idea how to make things right between him and the noble warrior. Rezkin’s world was so much different from his own, and the man had tried to draw him, a mere carpenter’s apprentice, into the excitement, thinking to assist in fulfilling Tam’s dreams of adventure. Tam’s thanks had been sorely lacking.

Just as Tam was about to ascend the steps leading to the deck, he was suddenly assailed from the darkness and jerked into a room devoid of light. His back slammed into the wall, and he struck his head hard enough to see stars behind his eyes. Large muscular hands gripped his shoulders, and strong fingers dug into his flesh.

“What are you up to, now, boy?” a deep voice grumbled.

“N-Nothing! What are you talking about?” Tam stuttered as he struggled against the striker’s grip.

“I saw you just now coming out of Lady Frisha’s room. You were in there alone for some time. Are you now trying to steal the king’s woman?” Kai inquired as he tightened his punishing grip.

“No! Of course not! It’s not like that between Frisha and me,” Tam argued.

“Maybe not, but I would put money down that you went in there to convince her to forget him,” Kai asserted through gritted teeth.

Tam swallowed hard but could think of nothing to say. Kai shoved him back again, and Tam stammered, “Okay, okay, I did…at first! But, it didn’t work. In fact, she convinced me that I was wrong, okay? I know I messed up. Rezkin didn’t deserve the things I said. I was just trying to think of a way to make it up to him, but I don’t know what to do.”

“I know my liege considers you a friend, but I see little value in your friendship at the moment,” Kai stated bitterly. “I doubt he would reject you, but you will need to prove yourself worthy before I accept your change of heart. For all I know, you have suddenly seen the advantages of staying in his good graces until you can stab him in the back. Would you sell him to the highest bidder or do you wait for the opportunity to betray him to your false king in hopes of obtaining some fanciful pittance?”

“I would never! Rezkin is my friend, but even of I hadn’t changed my mind, I would never have betrayed him!” Tam argued.

“No? With all your vile accusations, I was certain you were fitting him for a noose already,” Kai spat.

Tam squirmed beneath the striker’s painful grip. “I’m not like that, okay? I’m just a simple carpenter’s apprentice. Can’t you understand that? I was just overwhelmed!”

“Oh, I understand that you were weak, and weak men eventually break. Men like you who would honor a monster like Caydean as king and betray a friend who possesses conviction,” the striker replied.

“I would not!” Tam struggled to reply in what would have been a shout except that Kai was pressing hard on his chest.

“What did you tell the girl?” Kai asked abruptly.

“N-Nothing important. I just said that he had executed people on orders from someone else. That’s all, I swear!” Tam pleaded.

“And what was her response?” the striker asked.

“Sh-She said he should be honored and respected,” Tam stammered.

The striker’s grip loosened slightly. The man’s voice lowered threateningly as he said, “Listen and listen well, Blackwater. You will choose right now. You do whatever you must to prove yourself or you walk away clean and we never hear of you again. The only reason you even have the second option is because my king gave his word, but he does not need to know everything. If I get even an inkling that you intend to betray my liege, I will rip your head from your body and feed you to whatever predator is at hand.”

“You think you know him so well, Striker, but you don’t know him like I do,” the young man argued. “You’ve been here mere days. What makes you think you’re worthy to make such threats and judgments?” Tam gritted out through the pain.

“I am his loyal servant. I swore an oath of fealty to Rezkin as my king, and I stand by my oath,” Kai replied.

“Did you not swear the same oath to King Caydean?” Tam argued.

The striker paused, and when he spoke again, Tam could hear the smile in his voice. “No, in fact, I did not. When I renewed my oath after Caydean’s crowning, the oath was to the King of Ashai. Never did it mention the king’s name. Therefore, since Rezkin has equal claim to the throne, perhaps more, I retain my honor in accepting him as my king. Thank you for pointing that out. But, let us get back to you. Make this right, watch yourself, and be assured that I will be watching you.” The striker shoved the young man back into the wall as he released his grip, and then nothing but empty silence resided in the black space.

Kai left the boy shaking in the darkness and headed back up to the quarterdeck. The striker had been heading over to his training session with Rezkin when he spied the young man ducking into the cabin. Deciding to confront him about the harsh words spoken after dinner, Kai followed the young man. When he saw Tam settle himself to wait in the women’s quarters, the striker became suspicious. He went about his business collecting fresh drinking water for the practice session, and then followed the young woman back into the cabin. Unfortunately, he could not make out what was said through the thick door, but he made it a point to be ready when the young man left.

The striker did not like the fact that the boy was meeting in secret with his king’s chosen bride. Truth be told, if he had to choose a woman for his king, it would not be the commoner Rezkin had selected, but the matter was not up to him. He could tell that the young man’s mind was set. The political union was advantageous, though. If Rezkin had the General of the Army on his side, a coup would be much more likely to succeed. Perhaps Kai could arrange for the young woman to receive private lessons in etiquette and proper decorum. She was attractive enough, but a queen simply did not wear a tunic and pants, and her manner of speech was atrocious. Kai found it difficult to believe the young woman was the daughter of a noblewoman from such a distinguished House as the Jebais’.

When the striker finally made it to the quarterdeck, Rezkin was just arriving. The man was carrying Captain Jimson’s sword, but he did not remove his Sheyalins. The training session was brutal and unrelenting. The striker was familiar with extreme training regimens, but he could not dismiss the idea that Rezkin was attempting to inflict a harsh punishment. Only the fact that others would not appreciate the noise and scuffle of boots and clashing swords on the deck prevented the session from going long into the night. After only two hours of intense sparring, Rezkin finally called a halt. Darkness had descended on the ship over an hour past, and only a few lanterns were lit for the sake of the crew and passing ships. The young warrior’s body was tired from a long day of continuous exercise, but his mind was restless.

Rezkin turned to collect an empty bucket for wash water and found Wesson watching from the darkness. The young warrior was surprised because he had not detected the young man’s approach. He started to deride himself when he began to pick up on the subtle hum of mage power.

“Journeyman, what brings you here at this hour? Are you in need of my assistance?” Rezkin questioned.

Wesson sighed and stepped forward into the dim light of the lantern. “So you can see me. I was practicing my stealth spells. Some are designed with constructive magic to create a sort of barrier between the observer and the subject or within the observer’s mind. I am not particularly good with those, as you can probably guess. Others, however, use destructive magic to disrupt the sensory elements one uses to observe a person or object. I had not really cared to master those spells in the past, but your own skills in stealth have inspired me. I have been amazed at your ability to hide amongst us without being detected.”

Rezkin nodded and replied, “It can be advantageous to go unseen and unheard. I imagine that, as a mage with such spells at your disposal, you would have quite an advantage in that area.”

“You would be surprised,” Wesson remarked. “For one such as yourself who is used to hiding in shadows, it is much easier to conceptualize the desire to disappear. Your will to do so is stronger because your mind understands the need and what must be accomplished. Mages, in general, are constantly competing to be noticed. We have a reputation for showmanship and grandiosity for a reason. It is a completely different mindset. For this reason, many mages struggle with actualizing stealth in any useful fashion. This is a generalization, of course. There are a number of mages who have mastered the ability.”

“I suppose that makes sense,” Rezkin remarked. “But I do not see why you think I have a tendency to hide in shadows,” the young warrior pressed. Wesson had never let on that he detected Rezkin in any way during his stealth exercises. Now, he was curious how much the mage actually knew.

Wesson chuckled and replied, “You are the most well-hidden man I have ever met, Rezkin.”

Rezkin cocked his head and looked at the mage questioningly. “How so?” he asked.

Wesson looked thoughtful for a moment and then said, “Common sense tells us that it is more difficult to hide something in plain sight than somewhere where it will be well hidden. Sometimes, though, you can simply manipulate something you wish to hide so that its presence is obvious and accepted, even when seen by many.

“You, Rezkin, appear perfectly normal. To my mage sight, you are an average untalented human being. When I refer to talent, I am talking about mage power. To normal sight, you are a striking figure. You are someone to be noticed, recognized. Yet, you go about town with little trouble, catching the attention of only the few who get caught within your sphere. Have you noticed a change in the way people look at you when you first meet? I imagine the first look is one of recognition, and then suddenly, they simply accept you for an unknown man of little note.”

The warrior could remember numerous times he had experienced such an encounter. It had always felt a little disconcerting. “Yes, I am familiar with the occurrence,” he said slowly.

“I thought so. I do not understand it, yet. Truthfully, I would not have even noticed if it had not been for…well, that is no matter right now. The point is that it has taken quite a bit of observation on my part to detect the effect. It is possible that a spell lay over you. If so, it is extremely subtle and complex. I cannot even find it, if it exists at all. I suppose it could simply be a natural occurrence,” he said dismissively as his eyes drifted away. The mage shook his head and said, “No, see, it happened again. Every time I start looking for the source, I simply accept that it is normal and stop looking. Do you understand what I am saying?”

Rezkin narrowed his eyes and said, “I believe so. You think there is a spell on me that makes people take little note and accept that I am normal.”

Wesson chuckled and waved a hand in the air as he said, “Well, of course you are normal. I do not know why I even brought it up.”

The warrior looked at the mage pointedly, and Wesson cringed in recognition of what just happened. “Why are you able to recognize it at all?” Rezkin asked.

“Well, now I am looking for it, so it is becoming more obvious. Each time I notice it happen, I am able to retain the memory of my suspicions for a longer period of time,” the journeyman explained.

“So, you are becoming immune?” Rezkin asked.

“Immune to what?” Wesson inquired curiously.

Rezkin sighed and said, “The spell, Wesson. The…misdirection…spell you said has been placed on me.”

Wesson’s eyes widened as he asked excitedly, “There is a spell on you?” His brows furrowed as he looked closely at Rezkin and said, “I do not see one.”

“Journeyman, you were just telling me that you think a spell was placed on me to make people accept me as normal. Do you remember the conversation?” Rezkin asked with frustration.

The mage frowned and scratched his head. Memory dawned in his eyes as he said, “I know we were having the conversation, but I honestly cannot remember why I thought it necessary. Obviously, it is a ridiculous notion.” Wesson abruptly turned to leave when he spied Tam passing by on the lower deck. “Oh, Master Tam, may I speak with you?”

“Yes, Mage Wesson, can I do something for you?” Tam asked hesitantly. Most people did not want to be asked to do things for mages. They usually feared being used as test subjects.

“No, Master Tam. I was hoping perhaps I could help you,” Wesson replied as he joined Rezkin’s former friend, and the two disappeared into the dark.

If a spell had been placed on Rezkin, then it was not affecting his memory of events. The mage’s odd behavior served as proof of the spell’s existence. Rezkin sighed and headed to the washroom. It had been a long day, and he wanted to get a good night’s sleep, but the mage’s revelation only fueled his restless mind. He realized he was probably going to have to be satisfied with a long night of meditation.

Chapter 11

Malcius awoke the next day to an empty berth as usual. Rezkin had probably risen long before the sun decided to peek above the horizon. The ship was scheduled to arrive in Port Manai that evening, and Malcius could not wait to find a decent taproom with strong ale and pretty women. When Palis suggested the journey, Malcius had thought it a great opportunity to get away from the monotony that was his life. The tournament would give him the chance to prove himself against other comparable fighters and possibly even impress his father. Aside from that, he had expected the voyage to be average and boring. He would sit on a ship for a few weeks with his sister and brother, along with a few other normal passengers and crewmen. So far, the journey had been anything but average.

He was stuck on a ship with none other than the future Duke of Wellinven, his commoner cousin turned noble lady, a tiny female warrior-healer in denial, a journeyman battle mage who wanted to be anything but a battle mage, a disgruntled striker with mixed up loyalties, and a Dual-Blade Swordmaster with a mysterious past and relationship issues. Even the soldiers acted oddly by showing an unexplained deference toward the young Swordmaster. Perfecting one’s skills to the rank of Swordmaster did not grant one even a modicum of additional authority, unless one was awarded a position within a House or the Palace.

The baron and his son were easy to understand. They acted as nobles should act. Tamarin was also easy to understand. He was a commoner and acted like a commoner. Tam’s friendship with Rezkin and Frisha would normally be considered odd, but the young man had grown up with Frisha, which explained their friendship, and Rezkin had befriended both at the same time.

Unfortunately, Tam and Rezkin’s relationship was strained at the moment, which put Rezkin in a foul mood. Malcius wished Rezkin would snap out of it and go back to being the congenial, well-intended noble he was supposed to be. The source of Tam’s discomfort seemed obvious to Malcius. Tam was a commoner, and as a commoner, he did not understand the responsibilities of a noble. Whatever Rezkin had done had obviously been out of duty, and Tam just needed to accept that. In fact, Malcius decided he would have a talk with Master Tamarin and tell him just that.

Malcius washed and dressed before heading out to find the young man in question. He hoped to catch Tam so he could get it over with before breakfast. The young lord had little experience with commoners, other than his staff, and considered it a good opportunity to practice his skills of diplomacy. As count, he would have to interact with his subjects at his country estate, particularly for the purpose of resolving major disputes.

Tromping onto the deck, Malcius gazed around in the morning light. He spied his quarry leaning on a rail of the main deck staring at the rushing river. The young lord pulled up beside the man and greeted, “Good morning, Master Tamarin. I would care have a word with you.”

Tam was surprised, to say the least, to be addressed by Lord Malcius. In the nearly two weeks they had been on the same ship, he could not remember Malcius speaking to him even once. Tam had not expected him to, either. Malcius was the heir to House Jebai, the son of a count, and Tam was a commoner, a carpenter’s apprentice.

“Of course, Lord Malcius,” Tam said as he bowed awkwardly. Tam was nervous and shifted uncomfortably in the presence of the esteemed noble.

Malcius studied the young man for a moment before remarking, “I find it fascinating that you regard Lord Rezkin with such ease that you will berate him openly when you have trouble merely standing still in my presence.”

Tam frowned but held his tongue. He could get into serious trouble for failing to show due respect and courtesy to a member of the nobility. “That is different,” he muttered.

The young lord’s interest was piqued as he asked, “Why?”

Tam shifted uncomfortably again and said, “Rezkin generally refuses the use of any title or standard of position. When speaking with commoners, he often outright claims he’s not a noble at all. No one ever believes him, of course. I think he does it to put people at ease and so that he doesn’t have to deal with all the bowing and scraping. He doesn’t like that kind of attention.”

Malcius nodded. He had not known much of what Tam said about Rezkin, but it did seem to fit with Rezkin’s personality. “Yes, I can see him doing that. It still does not explain your behavior, though.”

“Rezkin is my friend. He doesn’t want me to treat him as a superior. At least, he was. I think I’ve kind of messed things up pretty bad,” Tam remarked as his eyes drifted back to the water. After speaking with Frisha and Wesson, Tam knew he had been wrong. Frisha had always been the pragmatic sort, at least until Rezkin came along. Tam had never known the girl to be so reactive until Frisha’s jealousy reared its head. Wesson’s story, though, had been a surprise. He never would have guessed the quiet mage had such a devastating past.

“Hmm, that is the subject I wish to discuss. I do not know what happened between the you and Rezkin, but I gather that he performed some deed, possibly killed someone, and you are having difficulty accepting it,” Malcius stated succinctly.

Tam spied the noble from the corner of his eye. How Malcius had deduced that was beyond him, but at least Tam was certain Malcius did not know the extent of it.

Tam said nothing, and Malcius continued, “I believe the source of your problem is that you have forgotten the class difference between the two of you.”

“What do you mean?” Tam asked curiously.

“You treat Rezkin as an equal, and he does the same for you. I hope you know it is a great honor he bestows upon you to do so. Not many nobles would descend to befriend a commoner and then include him in his public life. The problem is that you are not an equal. You do not have an equal upbringing, nor do you have equal responsibilities. Your responsibilities, as a commoner, are to yourself and your family, if you have one, and to serve the kingdom in times of war. Rezkin is a noble, and although I do not know his House, I would say it is one of great influence. His responsibilities are to his entire House and all of its subjects. He also holds an even greater responsibility to the kingdom and the crown.

The commoner did not protest, so Malcius continued. “I know you heard Rezkin speak about the duties of nobles toward their subjects, and I think he has the right of it. It makes the most sense. Nobles, ideally, are responsible for maintaining the peace and carrying out justice. We all heard how strongly Rezkin feels about the subject. Whatever Rezkin did, I am positive he did it for the welfare of his people, even if the order to carry it out came from a superior.”

Tam released a heavy breath as he replied, “I know, Lord Malcius. I overreacted before, mostly for the very reasons you stated. Frisha pointed out my error. It’s not just what he did, though. I thought it was at first, but I’ve come to realize it’s more than that. It’s the fact that we’re not equals. He is so much more than I am. I don’t understand why he cares to be my friend at all. He gains nothing while I prosper.”

“Ah, so you feel the friendship is unbalanced, and perhaps you are correct,” Malcius remarked. “People choose their friends for many reasons. On this voyage, I have had the benefit of befriending Lord Tieran, to some extent. He will eventually become duke, and not just any duke. He is currently third in line for the throne after Prince Thresson, assuming the prince still lives, and Tieran’s father, who would basically serve as regent until Tieran is ready to assume the throne. If King Caydean never marries and produces heirs and Prince Thresson does not return, Tieran will eventually become king. Yet, I make efforts to befriend him, and he does not begrudge me the attempt. Many would see only the financial and political benefits. In truth, I find I actually enjoy his company. Is it so wrong to develop the relationship?”

“How can you ever prove to him that you are genuine in your desire to befriend him and that you’re not just using him to your benefit?” Tam asked.

“Well, you see, that is where I have to accept my place beneath him in the hierarchy. While on a personal level we may treat each other as equals, in all other respects we are not. I will show him my friendship by proving my loyalty. When he asks something of me, I will seek to provide. When he needs my support, he will have it. In social functions, I will speak only of his good will and achievements. In public, I will at all times show him honor and respect. In this way, he knows he can depend on me to help him sway our peers to his cause. If ever I disagree, I only do so in private, but I accept his final decision before the public regardless. That is how I balance the friendship. It is how it is done among nobles,” Malcius finished.

“So, you basically submit to his authority and accept him as your superior?” Tam asked with confusion.

“Of course,” Malcius replied. “He is my superior.”

“I guess it’s difficult for me to understand,” Tam remarked. “Among commoners, we’re all pretty much equal. I mean, some, like Frisha’s family, have more money or influence than others, but if they accept you, then you are an equal. If they don’t see you as an equal, then they simply don’t accept you. I wouldn’t bother befriending the mayor’s son because he’s a snob and wouldn’t demean himself to befriend a lowly carpenter. I would never consider placing the baker’s son above me in some hierarchy, and I certainly wouldn’t submit to his authority.”

Malcius chuckled and said, “You have to remember, there are many more of you than there are of us. There are only nine counts in all of Ashai, and only seven have sons. Since we are spread across the kingdom, we rarely see each other. If I only chose friends of equal rank, I would have none.”

“Oh, I hadn’t really thought of it that way,” Tam replied. “I guess you really do live very differently and not just because of your luxuries. The only noble home I’ve ever visited was the general’s. From what I understand, he would not be considered as important if he wasn’t the general, since he isn’t the head of a major House and doesn’t own land.”

“That is true. Since he does not hold a landed title, he would have little hereditary influence. If a noble such as he wishes to gain influence and power, he must build wealth or political influence in other ways. Uncle Marcum did so by proving himself in the army,” Malcius stated. “But, we digress. We were speaking of your problem with Lord Rezkin.”

Tam nodded and looked down at the ripples on the dark water. “I know I need to make things right, but I just don’t know how. He offered me more than I could have dreamed of and only asked for my loyalty, and I failed him.”

The young noble shrugged and said, “Then, the solution is simple. Give him the loyalty for which he asked. Apologize, make a symbolic gesture, and then set out to prove yourself whenever possible.” Malcius paused in thought and then said, “I think Rezkin is a good friend to have. He holds his secrets close, so I know not who he truly is, but I feel that he is someone of great importance. When he speaks, I feel pride in who I am and what I must do. I believe he is a man worthy of loyalty, and I would be proud to call him friend.”

Before Tam thought better of it he suggested, “You should tell him so…ah, my lord.”

Malcius waved the concern away and said, “I am sure he knows.”

Tam shifted and chewed his lip anxiously. He wanted to speak on Rezkin’s behalf, but he was afraid to reveal too much. Malcius could see the ongoing debate in Tam’s eyes, so he waited patiently for the young man to reply. Finally, Tam said, “I don’t want to discuss Rezkin’s private matters without his consent, but I think your words are genuine. For his sake, I’ll tell you that Rezkin didn’t have friends where he came from. I think friendship, as a whole, is a bit foreign to him. He may not recognize your intent unless you state it plainly, my lord.” Tam noticed the look of dismay on Malcius’s face and hurriedly added, “Ah, forgive me for being so bold, Lord Malcius.”

“Not at all, Master Tamarin,” Malcius replied. “I appreciate your candor. I had not realized such was Rezkin’s upbringing. He always seems so practiced and congenial. I suppose it is not so unusual for men and women raised among those with great power to go without notable personal relationships, but usually there are one or two. Rezkin had to have been raised in total seclusion to go unnoticed by any among the peerage. I am certain at least one of us aboard this ship would have heard of him had anyone outside of his House had known of him. I should have recognized the fact before, but now it seems obvious. He could not possibly have had friends among the nobles. No secrets are kept so well at court.”

The young carpenter’s apprentice noted that Malcius did not even consider that Rezkin may have made friends among the commoners, but he said nothing since there was it was not true, anyway. Rezkin had not even been raised in a noble House. Tam simply shrugged and looked back at the young lord uncomfortably. He was not sure what else to say. “Um, Lord Malcius?” he said tentatively.

“Yes?” the young lord replied as he was drawn out of his thoughts.

“You mentioned making some kind of symbolic gesture. What exactly would that be?” Tam inquired.

“Oh, well, when one noble offends a friend publicly, he will often offer some tithe in recompense. It may be a gift of some value, depending on the offense. If the offense is great enough, he may throw a ball or arrange a hunting expedition. If one is very serious, he might even swear some sort of oath of confidence or loyalty, but that is done in only the most extreme cases since such things can have long lasting effects on an entire House,” Malcius explained.

“And, this has to be done publicly?” Tam inquired. It would be difficult to apologize to Rezkin publicly without revealing any of the warrior’s secrets.

“No, not necessarily,” the lord replied. “Unless the offended party insists, the matter can be resolved privately, especially if the offense is of a sensitive nature.”

“Thank you, Lord Malcius. You have been most helpful,” Tam stated with genuine appreciation. He still did not have a plan, but at least he had somewhere to start and an understanding of the protocols Rezkin would recognize – he hoped. Rezkin’s upbringing was so unusual he was not sure what the man would really appreciate.

Satisfied that he had fulfilled his responsibility both as a noble and a friend, Malcius headed to breakfast. It had not been so terrible speaking with the commoner after all. He had never considered the difference in social structure between the nobles and commoners. To be honest, he had never considered commoners much at all. Tamarin had been surprisingly insightful when it came to their mutual friend, Rezkin. The warrior had mentioned being raised beneath a brutal training regimen. Now, Malcius realized that the training must have taken precedent over everything else, and Rezkin’s social life had suffered. His typical sociable and affable countenance seemed incongruous with the revelation, but perhaps it was just Rezkin’s natural personality.

Malcius pondered which of the lords might be so eccentric as to raise his son in such a manner. He could surely be no lower than a count, but Rezkin’s attitude and bearing implied something higher. It could be a marquis or duke, perhaps, or an offshoot of the royal family? Even if the House were not landed, Rezkin would still maintain a decent amount of power if he were in the line of succession. Malcius tried to picture any family resemblances in his mind, but Rezkin just seemed like an average man, no particular features standing out from the others. Something about that thought gave Malcius pause, but a moment later he could not recall the concern.

Sitting down at the breakfast table, Malcius greeted the other nobles. Once the meal was served, Malcius politely opened a conversation with the older baron to whom he had spoken little thus far. “Lord Nasque, how goes the barony? Things are well, I hope.” Malcius noticed Rezkin’s arrival just as the baron began his reply.

The baron cleared his throat and glanced around at the young heirs. “Well, Lord Malcius, I suppose that depends on whether you would like an honest answer or a politically correct one. It is not exactly proper for a baron to air such problems openly, but neither would it do the kingdom any good to conceal the truth until it is too late to remedy.”

Malcius and Tieran both paused with a frown. Tieran said, “Is the situation so terrible, then?”

“Not so terrible yet, but certainly difficult and draining. In a few months time, though, I expect we will begin to see the consequences of yesterday’s actions, so to speak,” Lord Nasque replied.

“Really?” Malcius asked with surprise. “I had not heard there were any serious problems.”

Tieran grunted and said, “Your father has done you a disservice if he has kept such knowledge from you. Truly, he should be training you to take his place in the event something happens to him.”

“Well, what is it? What have I missed?” Malcius inquired. In truth, Malcius had never really thought about kingdom business. It was not that he did not care. He simply kept busy with other things that were more important to him.

“The king has been passing laws these past two years,” Tieran said.

“Of course he has. He is the king. It is what kings do,” Malcius retorted.

“Not like this. These laws are designed to destabilize the nobility, or so I have heard,” Tieran said quietly as though some spy might capture the knowledge and run back to the king. “Many of the laws have been passed without even consulting the Council, and the ones that do…well, it is dangerous to speak of the reasons those laws have been passed.”

Palis interjected in a hushed whisper that everyone could hear regardless. “I heard the king has been sending his dark tidings to the Houses to ensure the Council votes in his favor.”

Malcius looked at his brother askance and said, “What do you know of it, and why did you not tell me?”

The older baron interrupted. “It is not something of which any of you should be speaking. Regardless, the consequences are clear. The Council has less power, and the nobles have less influence in court. Kingdom taxes have risen to the extreme so that I have had to raise the taxes of my subjects three times in as many months. As a result, commerce has suffered because fewer people have money to spend.

The baron shook his head in frustration and disgust. “The common people are getting poorer, which means fewer are able to pay their taxes. The law dictates that those unable to pay must be imprisoned for their debts and their possessions seized in payment. Most of them have little of any value to begin with, and now their families will be without home and income. As the prisons fill, it means higher expenses to keep the prisoners fed and pay the guards, and fewer people are working to produce the goods and services we need. In turn, this means fewer taxes paid. You see? The balance of the system as been tipped and everything is sliding into the muck.”

Tieran nodded and glanced at the baron uncomfortably before he said, “It is true. Already the Council has issued warnings that they are considering stripping a few of the barons of their titles because they cannot keep up with the taxes.”

Lord Nasque bobbed his head in agreement and replied, “Yes, but fortunately for me, the lumber industry has been fairly lucrative, especially with the king building up his navy. I believe he expects a dozen more ships to be completed by the end of the year and has already submitted a proposal to the Council for next year’s lot. No, the taxes have been a hardship but not unmanageable for me. What causes me difficulty is the order for men. The king demands more men for his muster each month. Already I have lost half my guard, the remaining guard is insufficient to patrol against the increasing number of bandits. When people can no longer afford to purchase what they need, they turn to thievery.”

“Yes, we heard about our cousin’s terrible encounters with the scoundrels on her way to Kaibain. I cannot believe the army has done so little to stop them,” Malcius remarked.

“What can be done?” questioned the baron. “They can kill bandits today, but there will be more tomorrow when another family loses its home and has no income. As far as the muster, I have sent out recruiters for several months, but fewer respond. The men are needed for logging. Without them, the king cannot have his ships. The Council does not recognize this, though, and continue to demand more men. I am afraid a draft is imminent, and you know the people will be angry. When they take my loggers, how shall I pay the king’s taxes? How will the shipwrights get their lumber?”

“I had no idea anything of the sort was happening,” Malcius exclaimed.

“Do you pay attention to nothing?” Palis scoffed. It was true. Malcius rarely took note of anything that did not directly relate to him unless his father or tutors specifically assigned him the task. Malcius was suddenly ashamed that he had been more concerned with the quality of silk in his doublet than with the workings of the kingdom.

“Well, what is the solution?” Malcius inquired.

The baron shook his head and said, “There is no solution unless the king suddenly comes to a change of heart.”

“But, what of the nobles’ responsibility to their people? What of the king’s responsibility?” Malcius protested.

“It is truly a noble sentiment, Lord Malcius, but an unpopular one in today’s court,” the baron stated. “It is best you keep any ideas of solutions to yourself.”

“I am sure Rezkin would know a proper solution,” Malcius grumbled.

“Why do we not ask him, then?” Tieran proffered. “Rezkin!” he called across the small space to the other table. “What say you about a solution to the kingdom’s current economic problems?”

Rezkin had been listening to the nobles’ conversation. The discourse at his own table was subdued due to his current predicament with Tam, so picking up the softly spoken words was not difficult. Still, he raised a brow and donned a look of questioning surprise to the unexpected inquiry. “Well, I can think of only one solution, and it is not one most would speak aloud. Such talk might lead to accusations of treason and the sensitive subject of rebels.”

“I have heard whispers of rebels,” Malcius remarked.

“At least you heard something,” Palis grumbled.

“Is this the source of their discontent?” Malcius inquired. “What do they hope to gain?”

“It is, although Caydean forbids any mention of the rebels outside of efforts to stop them,” the striker remarked. “It is assumed they intend to put pressure on the king to change the laws or perhaps even supplant him altogether.”

Malcius’s eyes widened as he exclaimed, “With whom? Prince Thresson?”

The striker shrugged. “Perhaps. Who knows? I am not even certain they know, especially with the prince missing. That is the problem with rebellions and why they rarely succeed. They require a strong leader and a figurehead. They do not have to be one and the same. Without these, they lack organization, direction, and inspiration.”

“Do the rebels have that?” the young lord asked.

“They seem to have a decent leader, strong enough to gather support and keep it organized, at least,” Kai remarked. “As far as I know, they lack a figurehead. If they are to be effective, they need someone behind whom they can rally. They need a name to wash over the land that inspires hope in people’s souls and strikes fear into the heart of their enemy. People are more likely to support a cause if they believe it will succeed.”

“Who could serve as such a man? Who could inspire people to turn against their king?” Malcius asked.

“You ask dangerous questions, Lord Malcius,” the baron chided.

“Ignorance serves no one,” the striker countered. Lord Nasque was uncomfortable but nodded in acquiescence to the striker.

“Let us consider it a lesson in history, then, if you prefer,” the striker offered. “King Coroleus’s heirs have held the throne for over a thousand years. Since the founding of the Kingdom of Ashai, all rebellions have failed except one. A little over six hundred years ago, the reigning king went mad. You have heard mention of the Mad King, yes? There is a popular children’s rhyme about him,” the striker mused as heads bobbed all around.

“Anyway, the Mad King seized power from the Council, taxed his people into destitution and incited war with his neighbors. It is said he even killed his own sister and mother because he feared they would bear heirs to replace him. In fact, he caused so much strife and destruction that, with his passing, his name was stricken from the record. His own cousin led the rebellion against him and assumed the throne upon the Mad King’s death.”

Everyone understood the implication. King Caydean’s actions did not seem so far removed from what the Mad King had done.

“Is that historical fact or mere scholarly conjecture?” Tieran asked curiously.

“The king’s name was Golial, and he lived from the year 602 to 637 when his cousin, Duke Oerand, assumed the throne,” Rezkin’s deep voice intoned.

“I thought his name had been stricken from the record,” Tieran remarked with a slight upward turn to his lips. He was pleased to hear Rezkin contribute to the conversation with his usual uncanny historical knowledge.

Rezkin shrugged and said, “Not all of them. Just the ones in Ashai, and even then it was only those that could be found. It is very difficult to completely destroy information once it is known publicly. Removing an infamous king’s name is virtually impossible.”

Kai looked at Rezkin askance before continuing, “Every kingdom has seen its share of rebellions, though. Channería, Sandea, Jerea, Torrel – all of them. One thing that nearly all of the successful ones had in common was that they supported another with a rightful claim to the throne. Even the formation of the provinces that eventually became the Kingdom of Ashai was preempted by such a rebellion.

“The original settlers of this land were refugees from the east before even the Kingdom of Channería existed. There was a kingdom called…” Kai paused in thought.

“Gorsht,” Rezkin prompted.

“Right, Gorsht,” the striker said with another odd glance at the warrior. “The king of Gorsht did not favor his own son for the throne. He felt that his nephew would make a better king for whatever reason, so he named the nephew his heir.”

“A king can do that?” Malcius blurted.

“In Gorsht, the king had the right to name his own successor. The law was carried over into our own kingdom’s charter. It is a law that cannot be removed or changed by any subsequent king. But in Gorsht, upon the king’s death, the son claimed the throne for his own and ordered the execution of his cousin. The cousin escaped execution and later returned with an army of his own. War ensued, the nobles were torn between the opposing sides, and Gorsht was ripped apart. The usurper and the rightful king both fell in the final battle, and the kingdom of Gorsht was no more. The central government was completely obliterated.”

“The king should have recognized that his son would not give up the throne willingly,” Tieran remarked.

“True, but once the king was dead, there is little he could do,” the striker replied. “What would you do in that situation?” Kai inquired curiously.

Tieran thought for a moment and replied, “I suppose killing his son before he committed an offense would not have been a viable solution, especially if the man had not done anything to deserve such a fate at the time. I cannot say I would respect any man who killed his own son for naught but fear. I suppose I would find someone worthy and make sure he had the skills, power, and support necessary to claim the throne in his own right.”

“Let us say that King Bordran selected such a man. Would you lend him your support?” Kai pressed without looking in Rezkin’s direction.

Tieran shifted uncomfortably and glanced around at his peers. “I do not see the purpose of the discussion since it is not so. It seems to me that such talk would be treason.”

The striker shook his head and said, “Not if Bordran’s selection is the rightful king. King Caydean would be considered the usurper, so to speak against him would not be treason.”

“I do not think King Caydean would feel that way,” Tieran snapped.

“Tieran is correct,” Rezkin stated firmly. “Such talk could be dangerous, regardless of the truth of it.”

“On the contrary,” Kai argued. “To not speak of it lends more danger, especially for Lord Tieran. With Prince Thresson gone, Tieran is now in the direct line of succession. Do you think Caydean will not take notice of him?”

“What are you saying?” Tieran hissed. “Are you saying that I am in danger from the king?”

“I am saying that I would not expect your father to rule his House for much longer,” the striker snapped. He leaned forward and stared across the two tables at the young noble with such intensity that Tieran would not have thought they were separated by an inch. “You are of age, and you are young and malleable in Caydean’s eyes. When last I saw you, you were more interested in strutting and proclaiming your own grandness. You were a pretentious fop with little ambition who Caydean would not consider a threat. Since I joined this party, I have borne witness to a maturity and idealism from all of you that is uncommon amongst your peers. Once you leave this ship, you will all be scrutinized and listed as potential threats should anyone hear of your sentiments.”

“Are you saying we are wrong, then, to want to help the people? We are wrong to want to preserve Ashai?” Malcius questioned with exasperation.

Kai took in the faces of those in the small cabin. The nobles and Rezkin’s companions were riveted on the conversation. Luckily, the soldiers and guards had taken to eating their meals separately due to a lack of space and seating. At least he had a captive audience.

“I am saying that if you feel so strongly about the subject, then you should be prepared to do something about it,” Kai stated fervently. “Sitting about complaining in secret will not prevent the kingdom from falling into ruin. You do not support Caydean’s actions, but you fear to speak against him; and you do not support the rebels for fear of the repercussions should they lose. Most of you are heirs to major Houses. I can promise that you will have to choose a side eventually. Caydean would prefer you did not know you have other options. Some of you might be inclined to stand with the rightful King of Ashai.”

“What?” Malcius shouted. “Are you saying King Bordran did name his successor? Someone other than King Caydean?”

Rezkin shot the striker a look of warning. Kai pretended not to notice. “He did. I have seen the documents, myself, authenticated by a mage under oath.” Kai did not look at Wesson when he said this, either. Icy blue eyes blazed with feverish flames, but no one noticed the young warrior’s rising anger. The audience was captivated by the striker’s declaration.

“You have proof of this?” the baron muttered in surprise.

“Better yet, I know the true king, and he carries his proof with him,” the striker commented.

“Who is it?” Malcius prompted urgently.

“Ah, well, that I cannot say as I am under oath,” the striker muttered. “As you can imagine, being such a man at this time is dangerous. If Caydean were to learn of the man’s identity, he would have the entire kingdom out for the man’s blood before he is ready to claim the throne.”

Rezkin narrowed his eyes at the striker. He had no intention of claiming the throne. At most, he might be willing to help find the missing prince and reclaim the throne in the prince’s name. It seemed that Kai had decided to take this opportunity to recruit followers to his ridiculous cause.

“I doubt the young lords would be willing to announce their support for an unknown man who you claim is the rightful king without proof or knowledge of his character,” Rezkin supplied.

“I agree,” Kai said with a syrupy smile. “I doubt the true king will remain anonymous for long, though. Something is bound to happen that will expose him, and then he will have to act quickly to gather his supporters lest he be set upon by the full might of Caydean’s forces. If people know of him now, they will be prepared to follow him when the time comes.”

What irritated Rezkin the most was that Kai was right. Caydean would view Rezkin as a threat whether he wanted the throne or not. When Rezkin first set out from the fortress, he had not even considered the fact that he had any claim to the throne. It was not until Kai and Wesson pointed it out that he realized the full extent of the power granted him by the old king. Caydean and his supporters would not miss the implication, though, and neither would the rebels. Prince Thresson had no claim to the throne so long as his brother lived, but Rezkin had a claim now. With the prince missing, the rebels would use Rezkin as their figurehead, giving their cause legal validity. As the striker pointed out, sooner or later word of his unlimited authority and autonomy would get out, and Rezkin would be thrust into battle for a throne he did not desire. So long as any other ruler sat upon the throne, Rezkin would be considered a threat.

“It sounds to me as if you support this so-called true king,” Tieran commented.

Kai stood and grinned broadly as he said, “I am a striker, trained and bound during the reign of King Bordran. I swore an oath to serve the King of Ashai, and I will serve the true king with honor, not some degenerate usurper who would ruin this kingdom with his paranoid delusions.”

“Bold words, Striker,” Tieran remarked, “and unexpected.” He turned his attention to Rezkin and asked, “Rezkin, you are more learned than the rest of us, I think, particularly in matters of history. What say you about this so-called true king and his claim to the throne? Do you know of him?”

Rezkin sat back in his chair and turned to fully face the nobles. He rested one arm on the table and tapped his finger against the wood a few times as he struggled to form an honest but censored response. Finally, he replied, “I do know the one of whom the striker speaks, and he does have an arguable claim to the throne.”

Tieran’s jaw dropped. Kai was a striker, an elite warrior answerable only to the king, and it had been shocking to hear him speak of a mysterious true king; but somehow, hearing Rezkin confirm it made it real. The young lord realized he had come to trust and respect Rezkin with a regard he had not felt for any of the other nobles he knew, including his own father. If Rezkin said it was true, then Tieran believed him.

“If you say it is so, then you have my trust. My question is this, then. Is the man more worthy of the throne than King Caydean? Is he worthy of my fealty?”

“Since when do you ask if your king is worthy of your fealty?” Kai argued. “Did you ask yourself this question with regard to Caydean? Perhaps you should have.”

“I gather your point, Striker, but the question stands. If there are truly two contenders to the throne, then I would care to make an informed decision,” Tieran stated.

“Lord Tieran, to say such a thing could lead to charges of treason,” Lord Nasque argued. “In fact, every one of us could be accused of such simply for having this conversation.”

“You had best remember that, Baron,” Kai spat. “The fact that any of you even has knowledge of a contender to the throne could lead to your deaths. If you think to report these words to Caydean’s supporters, then you had best think again. They will bury any knowledge of the true king, and by bury, I mean you.”

“Then we have nothing to lose by continuing. I would ask you my question, again, Lord Rezkin. Would you follow this true king?” Tieran inquired.

Rezkin cocked his head thoughtfully and replied, “I have served others without question, carrying out orders regardless of the consequences. I assure you it is completely self-serving when I say that in all my future days I will serve no other.” Kai grinned wolfishly. The man was enjoying this conversation entirely too much.

“So you do serve this true king?” Malcius exclaimed in shock.

“The strange relationship between the two of you now makes sense,” Tieran remarked as he gestured between the striker and Rezkin. “You both serve the same challenger to the throne. The striker speaks passionately about King Caydean’s alleged misdeeds, and you, Rezkin, have eloquently expressed your viewpoints on noble responsibility and accountability on more than one occasion. You are both highly skilled, powerful, and of exceptional erudition. I hold your opinions in high regard. Please, be honest and answer me this. Do you support this contender for his values and competency or simply because he is not Caydean?”

Rezkin mentally applauded Tieran’s insightfulness. The young warrior knew the striker had only sworn fealty to him as a means of escaping Caydean.

Kai chuckled and remarked, “You are a sharp one, I grant you that. I admit, I first swore fealty to the man for only two reasons, neither being the man’s values or competency. One of those was certainly because he was not Caydean. The other was that King Bordran chose him, and I trust in Bordran’s judgment. However, that is not the entire reason I serve him, now.”

“Do you remember what you said about the ancient Gorsht king?” Kai asked rhetorically. “You said that the king should have chosen someone with the ‘skills, power, and support necessary to claim the throne in his own right.’ Well, the man I serve has the skills, and Bordran bequeathed to him the power and the tools necessary to achieve the support. Most importantly, I have come to know the man’s ideals, and I believe him to be a worthy king, worthy of my fealty,” Kai finished, his steady, determined eyes boring into Rezkin. The young warrior held Kai’s gaze for a moment before his attention was drawn back to Tieran.

Palis and Brandt were whispering indistinctly to each other every so often as they cast curious glances at Kai and Rezkin. Waylen’s eyes shuffled from speaker to speaker and occasionally landed back on the whispering duo.

“That is high praise, indeed, from one such as you. What of you, Rezkin? Are this true king’s beliefs congruous with your own?” Tieran asked.

Kai grinned as Rezkin’s eyes met Tieran’s, and the young warrior answered, “They are one and the same.”

Frisha squeezed Rezkin’s arm and said, “Rezkin, was it this man who made you do whatever it was that upset Tam? Did he make you kill people?”

Rezkin narrowed his eyes at his former friend wondering just how much he told Frisha. He clenched his jaw and answered, “No. Those events took place before, when I served others. I am no longer accountable to my former masters.”

“So, this man freed you?” Frisha remarked.

Kai chuckled and Rezkin cocked his head. “I suppose you could see it that way, in a manner of speaking; but in truth, it was King Bordran who freed me.”

“I suppose that is true, since it was he who named the man his successor,” Frisha mused.

“I should like to meet this man – this true king,” Tieran commented.

“What do you hope to gain? Would you give him your fealty, or would you choose to deny King Bordran’s right to name his successor?” Kai growled.

Tieran’s brows rose. “In case you have forgotten, as the hierarchy stands, with the prince missing and King Caydean refusing to wed, I am likely to be the next king of Ashai – assuming there is still an Ashai to rule,” he muttered. “I believe it prudent that I meet the man who would seize the crown from my head.”

Kai raised a brow and said, “You have designs on the throne, then, Lord Tieran?”

Tieran frowned and replied, “I have never coveted the throne – far from it, actually. The thought of being responsible for an entire kingdom of people, the complexity of running trade and commerce, maintaining the economy, domestic and interkingdom political maneuvering – all of it is positively terrifying. I…well, to be honest, I doubt I have the courage or mentality for such an endeavor. I could probably do no worse than my cousin does now, though. I think it only prudent to know such a man before I even consider supporting his vie for the throne.”

“I think you are overlooking something,” Rezkin stated. “The man of whom we speak has a claim to the throne. He may even have a responsibility to seize the throne from Caydean before the man does irreparable damage to the kingdom. He is not the only contender for the throne, though. What of Prince Thresson? Suppose this man claimed the crown from Caydean on behalf of the prince.”

Kai scoffed and Tieran rolled his eyes. “Believe me, Rezkin, I love my Cousin Thresson,” Tieran replied. “He is a good man with a big heart. He is even a highly talented duelist, but I doubt he could kill a chicken to save himself from starving, and he is certainly no king. Thresson would be the first to say as much were he here. We have spoken of it on more than one occasion. He wants nothing to do with the throne. He is ill suited to high-stress activities and finds it difficult to interact with people. Thresson is no leader. He even informed me once that if the crown ever fell on his head, he would immediately hand it to me.”

“What did you say to that?” Malcius asked curiously.

“I told him not to be so cruel and to keep his undesirables to himself,” Tieran scoffed. Brandt, who was feigning disinterest in the entire conversation, snickered and slapped the table with approval.

The baron gasped and exclaimed, “You are talking about the Crown of Ashai, not some dirty laundry! I would have you show some respect, Lord Tieran!”

The duke’s son scowled at the baron and said, “You think every man who falls in the line of succession is capable of bearing the weight of the crown? If King Bordran did name his own successor, it was because he knew the man was better prepared and more capable of running this kingdom than the rest of us.” He turned his eyes on Rezkin and asked, “Why would the man want to give the throne back to Thresson, anyway? Does he not desire it for himself?”

Kai crooked a brow at Rezkin, but Rezkin ignored the irritating striker. “He is not the sort who desires power for the sake of having power. He will do what is necessary for the good of Ashai.” The striker grinned broadly as he took Rezkin’s words as confirmation that he would claim the throne. Rezkin had a mind to consider all of the other options, however.

“Caydean has been king for two years. Why did this man not come forward before, and why does he not do so now?” the baron inquired.

Seeing that Rezkin was not going to answer, Kai scratched his chin thoughtfully and said, “I imagine it is because King Bordran died too soon. The true king is a young man, and I presume he was not yet prepared to make such a claim. Besides, what Rezkin says is true. The true king has proven that he would not claim the power and assert his authority if it was not necessary.”

“I make no statements of support,” the baron anxiously remarked. “It is merely an observation when I say that if this young king hopes to save the kingdom, he needs to do it sooner than later or there will be nothing left worth saving.” Lord Nasque was uncomfortable, to say the least, with the conversation that could see them all hanged for treason. He had to admit, though, that just the thought of a solution and savior lifted his heart.

“I-I have a question,” Tam suddenly broke into the conversation between the nobles. Several heads bobbed assent, and Tam swallowed nervously. Avoiding Rezkin’s gaze, he asked. “Um, if a king is so terrible…a king… not King Caydean, of course…but some other king, why go through with a rebellion and war at all? Why do so many people have to die when all someone has to do is just, you know, kill the king?”

Kai’s brows rose. “An assassination, you mean?” Tam swallowed again and shrugged noncommittally. “Of course, it has been done, but it does not always solve the problems. Firstly, it is illegal and could lead to the claimant losing his right. Even if it were not, nobles would mostly be unwilling to follow someone who gained his position through assassination, assuming it can be proven, of course.

“Secondly, killing the king does not always root out the problem. The king surrounds himself with likeminded people or those who are easily swayed to his cause. Whoever claims the throne needs supporters, and he would have a difficult time digging out the corruption. Someone would probably assassinate him to regain the power. In open war, people are forced to choose sides. The opponents are clear, for the most part, and all who support the losing side are divested of their lands and titles or are killed.

“Thirdly, kings are surrounded by guards, mages, and elite warriors such as strikers like myself. It is not so easy to get to the king. It would take the Shadow Knight himself,” Kai remarked.

Rezkin cocked his head curiously. Tam was always reading that book about the Shadow Knight. Rezkin considered that it might be a useful read after all. He doubted Tam would still be willing to lend him the book, though. Rezkin felt a slight tightening in his chest and shoved the thought aside.

“An Ashaiian king would be particularly difficult to assassinate since he would be a mage,” Wesson remarked.

“What?” Tam questioned in surprise. Several others echoed the sentiment.

The journeyman looked around slightly startled at the astonished reactions. “It is not a secret. I am surprised that so many people do not know. All of the past kings of Ashai have been mages. It is passed down in the bloodline. Princes, princesses, cousins,” the mage listed nodding toward Tieran, “always have the talent. It begins to dilute after that – hit and miss, really.”

All eyes turned to stare at Tieran. “What?”

“You are a mage?” Malcius asked almost accusingly.

Tieran rolled his eyes and waved a hand. “Yes, yes, for the little good it does me. I am a regular magical farmer. Had I been a battle mage like Journeyman Wesson, I might have pursued it, but as it is, I grow weary of making my mother’s petunias look perky.”

Even Rezkin was a little surprised, although he had suspected the possibility. It was not something he had known about the duke’s son. He knew the duke and duchess had powers, but his quick investigation into the heir had not revealed any evidence of the talent. For some reason, a significant amount of knowledge regarding mages had been omitted from his education.

The young lord frowned and said, “I suppose, after Rezkin’s speech to Mistress Reaylin about mastering her talents and such, I really should not make excuses. I just wish my power was something more exciting.” He noticed Reaylin’s scowl and added for her benefit, “And, no, despite being a life mage, I do not have much talent for healing, which makes me virtually useless as a mage according to my father. He is an elemental mage with an affinity for earth. He is always spouting tiresome maxims about building a sturdy foundation and keeping your walls strong and thick.”

Wesson’s eyes widened, and he said, “I did not know your affinity. If I could trade with you, I would. It is disheartening to always be destroying. I would much rather encourage growth and harmony.”

“Which is all the more reason for you to have the power given you,” Rezkin remarked. “I can only imagine the damage Tieran would do with your powers of destruction,” he added.

Tieran frowned and said, “What is that supposed to mean?”

Rezkin quirked a brow and said, “Have you already forgotten our first meeting?”

The young lord opened his mouth to protest and then stopped. “Ah, yes, I see your point. You may be correct,” he said with embarrassment. “I was a bit…brash.”

“And immature,” Frisha said with a huff.

Tieran flushed and replied, “Yes, that is true. I am sorry, Lady Frisha, truly.”

Frisha rolled her eyes and said, “It took you long enough. You still owe me a dress.”

“Yes, my lady,” he said ducking his head. “At the first opportunity, I will take you to the best seamstress in Skutton and have one made to your liking. Or two or three, if you like.”

“You would take her shopping and leave me to while away in boredom?” Shiela pouted. The woman had nothing to say during talk of kings and power and rebellions and magery, but she perked up at the first mention of shopping.

Tieran was taken aback by the young woman’s boldness, although he realized he should have expected it by now. “I owe the lady a debt that must be repaid,” he explained, glancing at Malcius.

Shiela opened her mouth to speak, but Malcius struck his fist on the table interrupting the presumptuous young woman. “Shiela, please conduct yourself as a respectable lady. You are not some street beggar looking for handouts.”

The young woman sniffed disdainfully and replied, “I only meant for him to provide escort. Of course, I would not expect him to pay.”

“Your excuses are thin and your reasoning weak. We go to attend the kingdom’s greatest event, and we will encounter nobles from all of the major Houses and distant lands. I will not have you shaming our House any more than you already have. Since you cannot seem to recognize polite conversation, you will simply not speak,” Malcius commanded.

“Oh, Malcius, that is absurd. You are such a boor. You cannot order women not to speak. Besides, father would be furious,” Shiela remarked as she dismissed his admonishment.

“I am not ordering women to not speak. I am ordering you not to speak until you learn proper decorum,” Malcius replied. “I do not care what father says. While on this voyage, I am responsible for upholding the family name. As to father, I believe even he would have a care if Lord Tieran were to report your behavior. He is someone to whom father would listen.”

Shiela flushed and smiled sweetly as she batted her lashes at the duke’s son. “Lord Tieran knows I only care to spend more time with him. It was complimentary, really. Brother, you make more of an innocent remark that needs be.”

Tieran rolled his eyes and remarked, “I do not envy you, Malcius. It is best your father marry her off as soon as possible.”

Malcius grunted and said, “If only.”

Shiela huffed and rose from her seat, which prompted the men all around to rise in her wake. “Well, I have had enough of all this boring conversation. All you men want to do is discuss politics,” she complained as she turned and floated through the door within a silken sea of green crested with white lacey foam.

Chapter 12

After Shiela left, everyone else decided they were in need of fresh air, and the cadre spilled out onto the deck. The young men and Reaylin were anxious with the tournament looming less than two weeks hence. They were to arrive in Port Manai by that evening, where they would stay two nights in the port city. After that, it would take four days to sail to Skutton. The schedule left the competitors with a week on dry land to brush up on their skills before the commencement of the tournament.

Throughout the morning, the competitors occupied the quarterdeck. Rezkin stayed among them giving lessons for over an hour and then retired to his cabin. Once there, he withdrew from his trunk a stack of parchment, a bottle of ink, a quill, a wooden box containing wax in various colors, and an assortment of forged seals he had carved. He organized his thoughts, reviewed the handwriting samples in his collection, and then began composing. Before he had even finished the first missive, a heavy fist pounded on his door.

Rezkin rose to his feet and opened the solid wooden door. Kai shoved Tam roughly from behind, and the young man stumbled into the berth. “I found this lurking in the passage,” the striker asserted.

Tam scowled and straightened himself. “I wasn’t lurking. I was coming to speak with Rezkin, and it’s none of your business.”

The striker shoved the door closed and slammed the bar in place. “I am a striker. It is my business to protect my king.”

“You don’t need to protect him from me,” Tam argued.

“So you say, when only yesterday you were publicly besmirching him and trying to turn his woman against him,” the striker retorted.

Tam flushed as his eyes darted over to meet Rezkin’s cold stare. “I-It wasn’t like that! I mean, it sort of was, but not really. Gah! I can’t do this with you here!” he shouted at the striker. “You make everything sound worse than it should, and you’re determined to believe the worst of me.”

“Not unlike the way you treated my liege,” Kai remarked.

Tam slumped onto Malcius’s bed and buried is head in his hands, his elbows resting on his knees.

“That is enough, Kai. You do have a habit of making every situation more difficult than it needs to be,” Rezkin remarked.

The striker scowled and said, “It is not my fault you cannot accept things for how they are.”

Rezkin pointed to the corner and stated firmly, “You may leave or may can stand there and be silent. Master Tamarin and I have business to discuss.”

“Yes, your majesty,” the striker said seriously with a fisted salute. He followed this with a bow before taking up the position of silent sentry in the corner. Rezkin took a seat on his own bed across from Tam and waited for the young man to collect himself.

When Tam finally looked up, his watery eyes traveled everywhere but to Rezkin. He noted the papers and seals and asked, “What are you doing?”

Rezkin placed the stopper back in the inkbottle and said, “I am making new arrangements.”

Tam did not know what that meant, but he nodded anyway. The silence stretched uncomfortably until he finally said, “Look, Rezkin, I can’t continue like this.”

Rezkin nodded and replied, “I know. I assumed you would eventually come to inform me that I am no longer welcome in your life. As I said before, you have no need to fear me. I accept your decision and apologize, again, for my presumptiveness. I accept full responsibility for your distress. I did not properly understand my place in your life.

“Regardless, I will ensure you are protected in the only way I can,” Rezkin continued. “I cannot purchase a commission for you in the army since you are not a noble, but this document will allow you to draw funds from an account at any of the branches of the Golden Trust Bank. You will find them in all of the capital cities and a number of the smaller ones. I believe the sum is sufficient to see you comfortable,” he said as he handed the parchment to his former friend.

Tam took the proffered parchment, and his mouth dropped. “Rezkin, I cannot accept this,” he said handing back the document.

“Is it not enough?” Rezkin inquired.

“N-No! It’s not that,” Tam replied hastily.

Tam could see the pain of self-recrimination in Rezkin’s eyes. The stoic warrior appeared to deflate as he replied, “That is it, then? I have failed in my duty to you? There is nothing I can do to make things right?”

Rezkin was at a loss. Tam would leave, and he would take Frisha with him. Would he ever acquire new friends or was he destined to be a failure without purpose? If they left, then Jimson was sure to follow. The soldier was already uncomfortable with Rezkin’s status. Once word of Kai’s designs for Rezkin to lead a rebellion reached the captain’s ears, Jimson was sure to reject Rezkin as well. How was he supposed to maintain his friendship with these people when they were appalled by his very existence?

“No, Rezkin, you don’t have a duty to me! You never had a duty to me,” Tam replied quickly. “I truly appreciate everything you have done for me, and you are ridiculously generous, but I don’t deserve it. I didn’t come here to reject you. I came to apologize. None of this was your fault. You were simply honest with me about your past, and I reacted terribly. I’m not used to the kind of lifestyle you lead. I was shocked and didn’t really understand. I know, now, that there are fundamental differences between us that I will probably never understand. You have responsibilities that I cannot fathom. I’m a mere carpenter’s apprentice and you…you are a king.”

Rezkin scoffed, “I am not a king.”

“No, you are. I’ve been thinking hard since our argument. Even before the conversation this morning, you had my complete loyalty. I just had no idea how to prove myself to you. I listened to what all of the nobles and the striker were saying at breakfast, and I think the striker is right…in that at least,” he said with a scowl directed at the corner for the man.

Turning his attention back to Rezkin he said, “This kingdom needs you, Rezkin, and I cannot imagine a better king. I know I was afraid when first I heard, and I was afraid when you said you killed so many people, but now I realize why you had to do it. I also think that you, more than most people, understand what it means to serve. You understand the consequences of such orders. You know what it means to sentence someone to death, and you know what it means to kill. I do not believe you would give such orders lightly. Somehow, despite your brutal upbringing, you’re compassionate, generous, dependable, and idealistic. I’m not an expert in such things, but I can’t image better traits for a king.”

Tam slid to his knees on the floor between them and said, “I don’t know the proper words, but I swear my fealty to you, Rezkin, as my king.” Remembering what Malcius said about how he would prove his friendship to Tieran, Tam continued, “When you require something of me, I will seek to provide it. When you need my support, you will have it. I will speak only your praises in public, and I will ever strive to serve you loyally.”

Rezkin stared at the young man unable to believe what he was hearing. How did this happen, he asked himself. He thought his friend had come to reject him, and now Rezkin had another vassal. The warrior cocked his head thoughtfully. It would certainly make Rule 1 easier if he was in charge of the young man. Actually, the Rule made much more sense this way. It was the king’s duty to protect and honor his people. Was this what the Rule meant all along?

Rezkin finally said, “Tamarin Blackwater, I, Rezkin, do hereby accept your oath of fealty and in return offer you protection and sanctuary, in so far as I am capable of providing.”

Kai cleared his throat from the corner and remarked, “I must say that was the most sincere oath of fealty I have ever heard.”

Tam beamed and released a heavy breath. “I was worried you would reject me.”

Rezkin asked in surprise, “Why?”

“Well, because you have been so angry with me,” Tam stated.

The young warrior shook his head and said, “I was not angry with you, Tam. I was angry with myself. I failed you, and I had no way of repairing the damage.”

“No, you didn’t fail me at all. Truly, it was my failing, and I’ll eventually prove my loyalty,” Tam said with what he hoped was a reassuring grin. Rezkin only hoped Tam’s loyalty was true, for it would surely be tested when the young man learned that Rezkin was also The Raven, the Riel’gesh criminal overlord.

“Now that the matter between you two is resolved, perhaps we can discuss the others?” Kai remarked.

“The others?” Rezkin queried.

“Yes,” the striker said. He paused and asked, “May I leave my post, now?”

“Yes. What is this about the others?” Rezkin asked again as Kai crossed the short distance.

The striker took a seat on the trunk at the end of Malcius’s bed so that he was not standing over the king. “They wish to meet the true king,” Kai said looking pointedly at his liege.

Rezkin’s eyes darkened, and he said, “No.”

The striker huffed and argued, “My king, you cannot gain support if you do not allow them to know you. I believe many of those onboard would swear fealty to you if they knew who you were. You already have the trust and loyalty of most of the young lords.”

“They are young, Kai, and they do not fully comprehend the consequences,” Rezkin retorted. It would have been an odd statement coming from a nineteen-year-old about young men who were mostly older than he, but Rezkin was no ordinary young man.

“Yes, they are young, but they will be the Heads of their Houses. You will need their support,” Kai countered.

“They are not yet the Heads, Kai,” the young warrior argued. “If they did join me and their fathers discovered their new loyalty, every one of them could be disavowed before being summarily hanged for treason.”

“Of course there are risks, my king, but this is war, and you cannot win if you are unwilling to make sacrifices,” the striker argued.

“First of all, this was not my war,” Rezkin stated. “I have no desire to pursue the crown. I only consider doing so because it could be what King Bordran intended when he arranged my training and bestowed upon me such authority. It is a responsibility I accepted when I claimed these blades. Second, I understand the requirements of leadership, but I will not make needless sacrifices simply because it is easier at the time. This discussion is over. You will not reveal me to them until I say otherwise.”

Kai leaned forward in a seated bow and said, “As you command, my king, so shall it be.”

Tam glanced wide-eyed between the two men. He did not understand their interactions at all. One moment Kai was overbearing and argumentative and the next he became submissive and placating. The man seemed to switch between the two without any forewarning or reason. Tam decided it must be another difference between nobles and commoners.

Since Tam decided to stay in Rezkin’s company, the warrior had no need to make new arrangements, so he quickly packed away his supplies. He gripped Tam’s shoulder and said, “There is still an hour before the midday meal. It is time to increase your training, Tam. You have been lax.”

“Of course…ah…your majesty,” Tam said, stumbling over his words.

Rezkin frowned. “There is no need for that, Tam. I would prefer no one hear such things, so please just call me Rezkin or Rez, as usual. I would actually prefer the striker did not do so, either,” he said looking pointedly at the striker.

Kai’s face scrunched in a pain-filled expression as he said, “Very well, but it will be difficult to convince others to respect you as king if your own subjects do not show you the proper respect.”

“I am not trying to convince others that I am king,” Rezkin retorted. Seeing the disgruntled look on his vassal’s face, Rezkin added, “You can do so once my status is made public – if it is made public. I still think I should simply dethrone Caydean and hand the crown to someone else.”

Anger flooded the striker’s face, but he spoke with deference, “With all due respect, that was not King Bordran’s intent. Master Tamarin and I are of two completely different backgrounds. He is a simple commoner craftsman, and I am a noble elite warrior, yet we can both agree that you are the best candidate for the position. Others will recognize it, as well. You are always telling the others to accept who they are and embrace it. As your loyal servant, I am advising you to do the same.”

“I have had enough of this discussion for now. I will deal with those concerns when it becomes necessary,” Rezkin asserted. “Right now, we go to the quarterdeck.”

The two warriors and Tam joined the others on the quarterdeck for the morning training exercises. Nobody said anything, but everyone was secretly relieved that Tam and Rezkin had apparently worked out their differences. Malcius was particularly pleased with himself for having had some impact. The noble had never really stepped outside of his own interests to affect anything, so it was especially gratifying.

Conversation during lunch was kept light, and everyone steered away from the subject of kings and rebellion. After the meal, people ambled about entertaining themselves however they could. Sergeant Millins obtained a couple of fishing poles from one of the sailors, and he, Tam and Frisha sat on the poop deck in light conversation while the lines dragged behind the ship. Captain Jimson managed to corner Reaylin, and they were engaged in private conversation.

Shiela had little in common with anyone onboard, and refused to lower herself to speak freely with Frisha or Reaylin. Those men who were not related to the frustrating lady tended to avoid her. The noble woman finally found herself a seat that was mostly blocked from the breeze so her parasol would not blow away and took up her needlepoint. The lady had been appalled that the other women did not possess the skill and insisted that Frisha must learn if she was ever to be included in any sewing circles. Frisha just rolled her eyes and walked away.

The captain informed the passengers that they would be pulling into Port Manai right at the dinner hour, and the travelers decided to take their meal at an inn or tavern rather than suffer the ship’s cuisine needlessly. The food was not particularly bad. It just had little variety. The first few days were always the best when the cook had fresh meat and vegetables to serve; but afterward, most meals consisted of salted pork, fish, beans and potatoes.

The ship was staying in port for two nights to resupply and collect any messages that were to be delivered to Skutton. Rezkin had selected a ship offering passage across the open waters to the island, so they did not have to change vessels. After offloading the cantankerous creature he called Pride, the young warrior joined the others at the end of the pier. With overnight bags in hand, or in their servants’ hands, as the case was, the traveling companions left the ship as quickly as possible. No one was looking forward to boarding again two days hence.

Lord Nasque was familiar with Port Manai, having traveled to the city on many occasions. He led the nobles to the fairer part of town visited by the more affluent patrons. Rezkin knew of several nice, affordable inns closer to the market district. Although he could afford to stay in the nicer inns, he knew that most of his companions would feel more comfortable staying amongst their peers. It also placed them closer to the shops in case anyone needed to obtain supplies.

Rezkin managed to secure four rooms at one of the larger inns for the nine people in his party. Kai, however, stated that he could find his own lodgings but promised to meet them for breakfast in the morning. Several of the Jebai and Nasque guards also accompanied Rezkin’s group since they would be staying in the more affordable district. The guards worked in shifts through the night so they did not all need to accompany the lords at the same time.

The strangest sight in the city, so far, was the unusually high number of scruffy young men carrying travel packs. Even though most of the young men appeared to be travelers, they were not taking up residence in the inns. After a few inquiries, it became apparent that these young men were reporting for the king’s muster. A new military post had been constructed just outside the city, and both new recruits and trained infantry had been passing through in a constant stream.

One of the other inn patrons boasted of the amazing meal he had enjoyed at a tavern less than a block away, so the companions opted to dine out. The Kettle’s Bottom Kitchen was popular with the locals, and it was some time before the serving staff were able to clear enough tables to seat the party of eight. Everyone was surprised when only a few minutes after they had been seated, Palis, Brandt, and Waylen joined them. Apparently, one of the Jebai guards told the young nobles where the travelers could be found. A flurry of activity ensued as the servers managed to collect three more chairs to squeeze into the cramped space around their tables.

The tavern guests stared at the eclectic group. It was obvious from their dress that they were of a variety of backgrounds – commoners, nobles, soldiers, and a mage – all partaking of a meal together. Even Rezkin found it odd that the nobles had deigned to join them. For his part, Rezkin had forgone the uncomfortable doublet and breeches and wore a well made, high-quality shirt and pants. He still felt uncomfortable going without his armor among so many people, but it would have garnered too much of the wrong kind of attention.

The establishment was sizeable by tavern standards, sporting at least fifteen tables large enough to hold four to six people and a few smaller ones. A long bar surrounded by tall stools ran along one wall. Behind the bar, a number of tapped kegs were lined up along a tall bench, and between the kegs was a tall rack holding an assortment of shiny bottles filled with various colored liquids. Where the bar met the front wall was another rack containing bottles of wine imported from around the world. Some were made of glass, others clay or even wood.

“I’m sorry to inform ye that we can no longer serve beef or northern bison since it’s no longer available in this region,” the hostess stated as they arranged themselves.

“What? But you are on the main trade route,” Palis protested with surprise.

“Aye, we are, me lord” she said with a slight lilt typical of the isles, “but none of it makes it to Port Manai anymore. Traders say most of it’s gettin’ requisitioned by the army and what’s not is taxed so high they can’t be sendin’ it off to distant cities. The meat be not the only thing not makin’ it out of Ashai, now. Traders been sayin’ their stock is cut short by near a quarter and they’re havin’ a hard time sellin’ what they bring in. People aren’t partin’ with their coppers with so few to spare. We’re lucky we’re on the sea, I suppose, since we can at least partake of the ocean’s bounty. Some places here in the south aren’t so lucky.”

“The profits, the tariffs and levies lost! The kingdom will go broke,” Palis stammered.

“I don’t know anythin’ about that kind of thing,” the woman said, “but I’ll tell ye we’re servin’ glazed fish with clam sauce and herb roasted chicken seasoned with chessery. The fish is amazin’, but I’d go with the chicken since this’ll probably be the last shipment of chessery we get in Ashai.”

Waylen furrowed his brows and remarked, “But, chessery is not expensive, and it is not even grown in Ashai. I do not believe it is something the army would bother to requisition.”

“No, that’s the problem, though. We don’t grow it here. It only comes from Verril, and since the traders aren’t bringing them any more great horn wool and padrion dye, they’re refusin’ to trade with us – or so I’ve been told. I’m no merchant. What will ye have?”

The large group went about ordering their meals and drinks amidst the growing din of the crowded tavern. Rezkin’s tables had been pushed together to form one long one toward the back of the tavern with the young warrior at its head. Along the back wall was a raised stage, which was currently occupied by an attractive middle-aged female singer accompanied by a gangly teenage boy playing a lute. The musicians were quite talented, and Rezkin found that he was enjoying the entertainment.

Rezkin’s masters had insisted that in certain countries anyone of notable status was expected to be able to sing and perform on a variety of instruments. In the distant southern Kingdom of Penoi along the Ulukan Sea, musical talent was often used to determine one’s social status among one’s peers in much the same way as was performance in dueling competitions in Ashai. Needless to say, Rezkin learned to sing and play several instruments, a few of which would probably never even been seen or heard in his own land. At times, he had been instructed to sing while performing his other training exercises, which was more exhausting than one might expect.

Rezkin’s musical upbringing had been technical, educational. It lacked the emotional value and simple relaxing pleasure of the performances he had witnessed since leaving the fortress. Most of his music instructors had been passionate men who purported the necessity to infuse the music with one’s feelings, but Rezkin had never understood. Now that he was gaining experience with outworlder relationships, he began to appreciate the music in a new way. Where before he would have set his mind to identifying the rifts and key changes and analyzing the woman’s rhythm, tone and delivery as she sang of her lost love, he now wondered, What happened to the man and Why does she care so much?

When the song finished, the woman and young man collected their belongings and left the stage. An older man entered and was introduced as a bard of some repute. The man set up an assortment of instruments to one side of the stage. He selected the lute and began singing of some past battle where the hero defeated a hoard of barbarians and then fell to a rock thrown by a small boy.

“So, Rezkin,” Brandt called, breaking the warrior out of his musings of musical appreciation, “is that your given name or one you chose for yourself? I had not thought to ever hear of a woman naming her babe after the Rez.”

“I do not get your meaning. It is a name like any other,” Rezkin stated with confusion. He had no idea why people were always remarking on his name.

“It was most likely given by his father. I doubt a woman would give such a name, although I suppose the Rez does have a certain following of adventurous admirers,” Palis remarked. “You know, the kind who have an unhealthy fixation with the dark and mysterious. Perhaps our dear cousin even had designs on the antihero,” Palis teased.

Frisha blushed and said, “I admit some of the stories are exciting, but such a man would frighten me. No, the Shadow Knight was always Tam’s fascination.”

Rezkin glanced back and forth between the companions but had no idea what they were talking about, and nothing they said lent any clues. Tam noted Rezkin’s perplexed expression and said, “Rezkin doesn’t know the story of the Shadow Knight. He doesn’t know what you’re talking about.”

The young lords and pretty much everyone else at the tables stared at Rezkin in shock. “How can you not know the story of the Shadow Knight? Everyone knows about the Rez, the Shadow Knight, the King’s Dark Tidings,” Brandt protested.

“The character had to have been your namesake,” Palis commented.

“He is not a character,” Brandt argued. “The man actually existed, even if his deeds have been compounded and exaggerated.”

“Do you really think so, Lord Brandt?” Tam piped up with excitement. “Do you think the Shadow Knight was real?”

Brandt huffed. “Of course he was real. The stories came from somewhere, and it is not difficult to believe the kings of old employed their own assassins of extraordinary skill. I mean, the king has every resource in the kingdom. He could choose anyone from the best of warriors,” the young man remarked.

“Or train his own,” Jimson interjected.

“Too right,” Brandt said with a firm nod. “The kings could have trained a small army of Shadow Knights.”

“I am pretty sure they did, and they are called strikers,” Palis commented.

Brandt scowled and said, “It is not the same.” Palis only shrugged.

“So, this Shadow Knight was an assassin for the king?” Rezkin inquired, interrupting the interplay. Now, he was very curious, indeed.

“The stories were passed down by the bards, but I doubt anyone knows when they actually began,” Brandt offered. “According to the stories, he was officially called the Rez, but the people sometimes call him the Shadow Knight. The Rez was a secret assassin for the king. It was said that if the Rez ever appeared saying that he bore the King’s Dark Tidings, it meant he was about to kill you on behalf of the king. Because of that, the phrase ‘dark tidings’ is used regularly as a euphemism for assassination. But, he was more than a mere man and more than an assassin. He was trained in all manner of combat and weapons and had knowledge enough to infiltrate any faction of society whether common, noble, foreign or domestic,” Brandt explained. The noble stopped to take a swig of ale, and Tam picked up the story excitedly.

“Someone collected a number of the stories and put them together into the book you asked me about,” Tam informed. “It is said that the Rez had knowledge of everything. He could become anyone and do almost anything. In one story, he pretends to be an apothecary and brews a poison instead of a cure. His skill is so great, though, that the poison actually cures the man of the ailment before killing him a week later. No one knew it had been the supposed apothecary who poisoned the man.”

Palis took up the story saying, “In another, he acts as a visiting dignitary from Torrel so that he can spy on the activities of an Ashaiian duke who was thought to harbor issue with the reigning king. When the Torreli ambassador shows up unexpectedly, the ambassador is convinced the Rez truly is a dignitary from Torrel. He is so impressed with the Rez, that he insists the assassin negotiate an important trade agreement between the two kingdoms on behalf of Torrel! Of course, the agreement worked out in Ashai’s favor.”

Rezkin’s eyes left Palis and turned back to Tam. “These stories are in your book?”

Tam grinned animatedly, “Oh, yes, those and more! There are a lot more stories of the Rez that either haven’t been recorded or are in other books, though.”

Rezkin cocked his head and asked, “If the man was real and such a secret, how did anyone know of him, and how do they know the stories?”

“Exactly, which is why most people believe them to be mere fantasy,” Palis asserted. “At one time, some bard made his name by inventing exciting, dark stories.”

“It is an old argument,” Brandt said dismissively. “And, only some people believe the stories are fantasy. Most think they are real. There are several ideas about how the stories spread. A common one is that the Rez fell in love and told his stories to his lover. I do not care for that one since it makes him sound weak, and I do not believe he would be so careless. Another is that, upon his deathbed, he confessed his sins to a priest of the Maker. I, personally, favor the one where the king wanted to intimidate the nobles and impress upon them his power so he had the stories spread intentionally.”

“Some believe the Rez was actually many different people, and that through miscommunication or out of desire for a better tale, the deeds have all been contributed to one individual,” Jimson interjected.

“Yes, but the stories are absurd. His physical feats alone are humanly impossible. There is no way such a man existed. Like the story of the apothecary, for example,” Palis said waving a fork in Tam’s direction. “Who ever heard of a poison that cures and then kills a week later?”

Rezkin cocked his head and replied, “That is quite possible, actually. If the patient had a simple ailment, one could mix the cure with a havia draught laced with scarlen powder and dimwyd syrup. It would be a difficult preparation but perfectly feasible for a Master Apothecary. The scarlen and dimwyd would delay metabolizing of the havia for about a week at which time the havia would take effect and kill the man.”

He rubbed his jaw thoughtfully and said, “If an alchemist then infused the concoction with a four-three-one ratio of spanderin, frentic and hephasian mage powders, respectively, the fatal effects could be delayed as much as a month.” The warrior shrugged and added, “It seems like a lot of work to go through just to kill a man. It would have been easier just to make it look like he fell down the stairs in a fit of dizziness from his original ailment.” Rezkin glanced around to see everyone staring at him with blank faces.

“Why do you know that?” Palis finally asked.

“It was a part of my training. I told you, I am a Master Healer of the Mundane,” Rezkin answered.

Palis’s shoulders relaxed a bit as he said, “I was not aware that sort of thing was taught to healers.”

“It is not, typically,” Rezkin agreed, “but I was taught a number of unusual Skills for use in my duties. I never brewed such a potion, but I am Skilled in the techniques and have the necessary knowledge.”

Brandt frowned and said, “So, you were like some kind of investigator?”

Rezkin shrugged and said, “If need be.”

The young Gerrand shook his head and remarked, “I still do not see how you could have lived in Ashai all your life and never heard of the Rez, especially with a name like Rezkin?”

Rezkin shrugged and replied, “My days were filled with training, not frivolous tales.” In truth, though, he was intrigued. The stories of this Rez character did not sound so dissimilar to his own training.

“Frivolous? And, you, the historian! These stories are of historical significance!” Brandt argued.

“Perhaps,” the warrior replied, “but they could equally be pure fantasy, a morbid one at that.”

Palis laughed and slapped the table, “Ha! Rezkin does not believe in the Rez. The irony!” Several of the others chuckled at Rezkin’s expense. After the weight of the talk of kings and rebels, they were in need of a bit of light-hearted banter. Apparently, the bard felt so too, because his next performance was a silly song about a boy who painted all of the town’s sheep red to impress a girl whose favorite dress was made of red wool.

When the meal was nearly consumed, and the bard had moved on to juggling an array of colored balls as he jested of fanciful creatures, Palis turned to Rezkin and remarked, “Lord Carinen and his eldest sons, Dynen and Rhesh, are staying at our inn. I care not for the eldest. Dynen is cunning and deceitful. He revels in defaming anyone who draws his attention. The more difficult the mark, the more he is driven.”

“Rhesh is not so bad,” Brandt remarked. “He could not have asked for a more miserable lot than to be subjected to Lord Carinen and Dynen all his days. I might think I was blessed by comparison,” he grumbled.

Lord Carinen had a reputation for being just as cunning and deceitful, except that he turned his focus to politics and power plays. What was more, the marquis had managed to work his way into King Caydean’s circle of influence. He zealously preached the king’s praises, but Rezkin knew the man would put a knife in the king’s back if he believed he would profit. It was speculated that Carinen killed his wife when, after a number of years, it became clear that she was unable to bear any more sons following the first. Only days after his wife’s death the marquis had already arranged a betrothal with a much younger woman. She bore him three more sons in two years and nearly died of complications during birth of the twins.

Dynen, at twenty-seven, was eleven years older than his younger half-brother and was known for any number of sordid acts from beating and raping household staff to burning down a brothel because he contracted some uncomfortable ailment. Of course, among the peers, such acts were merely whispers and conjecture, but Rezkin knew them to be true. The man had also been involved in an unfortunate hunting incident where a friend of his, who had just entered into a betrothal with the woman who was now Dynen’s wife, accidentally impaled himself on his own spear when he fell from his horse.

“What of Rhesh? I know little of him,” Rezkin inquired.

Rhesh was a quiet, unassuming young man who kept himself distant from court interest. When the second son was only ten, his mother sent him to foster with Duke Darning, her third cousin. Lord Carinen heartily approved of the move, as it would foster good will and influence with the duke; but popular rumor held that Rhesh’s mother dreaded her husband’s influence on the boy and feared he would not live to adulthood if left in Dynen’s company. The younger twins had such a strong bond with each other and their mother that Lord Carinen and Dynen largely ignored them.

“Rhesh? I have only spoken to him on occasion,” Palis answered. “He is said to have a decent amount of talent for fire – a gift from his mother’s side. It was not discovered until he was already at Darning, and since his return to his father’s House, Dynen has left him alone, from what I have heard. Dynen was quite covetous of Rhesh’s power, but his fear overrides his envy.”

“Even Lord Carinen keeps his distance, or so I have heard,” Brandt added. “Rhesh seeks to compete in the tournament, as well. Duke Darning employs a Swordmaster on his guard, and he set the man to teaching Darning’s own sons and Rhesh.”

“Which Master?” Rezkin queried.

Brandt and Palis looked at each other in thought. “What did Rhesh say the man’s name was?” Palis asked.

“I think it was Morden or Morgan or something like that,” Brandt replied.

“Moroven,” Rezkin corrected with a nod.

“You know him?” Palis asked with surprise.

Rezkin shook his head in the negative. “No, I have never met him, personally, but I know of him. He wields a two-handed longsword of the Sandean Imperial style. I would not have thought the man would encourage dueling as a sport. He is a practical warrior.”

“Rhesh mentioned that the tournament was his father’s idea,” Brandt said with disgust. “It is how they are – always pressing their sons to accomplish what they could not, regardless of whether or not it pleases the son.”

Palis raised a brow and said, “Your father did not send you to the tournament.”

“No, he did not,” Brandt spat. “He would not have allowed me to come at all except I said I would go whether he approved it or not. I told him if he wanted to be sure his heir returned alive, he should send me with you and your guards,” he finished with a grin.

Palis shook his head and said, “I wonder if Rhesh is so good with his sword. I would pay dearly to see him defeat his own brother.”

“It is unlikely you would witness such a duel,” Rezkin commented. “Dynen will assuredly be competing in the Fifth Tier.”

“What?” Palis exclaimed.

“He is a Swordmaster in his own right,” the warrior explained.

“I have never heard such a thing,” the young lord denied with disdain.

Rezkin nodded with a grunt and said, “Lord Carinen has been pushing for a seat on the Council. He and Dynen have kept the secret thus far, but I expect they intend to have some great unveiling at the tournament in a bid for recognition and power. If Rhesh, too, performs well in his tier, the marquis’ support will undoubtedly increase. I do not know if it will be enough to overcome his reputation, though, especially with his closeness to the king.”

“Considering certain aforementioned activities of the gracious monarch,” Brandt said facetiously in a low voice, “it is unlikely the Council of Lords will desire to shift the balance of power in the king’s favor more than it has already.”

The warrior shrugged, “It may not matter. The king may decide to simply appoint the man to the Council with or without their consent.”

“He could not!” Palis stated with alarm. “The Council has always been selected by popular vote of the seated members.”

“Knowing what you know of him, think you not that the king will find a way?” Rezkin questioned.

Rezkin was seated at the head of the table, Palis and Brandt to either side with Waylen beside Palis. The mage sat to Brandt’s other side but was making every attempt to give the lords their privacy. Palis leaned in closely, and Brandt followed his lead as Waylen’s eyes began surreptitiously surveying the patrons around them.

“That is what we wanted to talk to you about,” Palis said in a hushed breath. “We want to know more about…you know…the man you were talking about before. Tell us about him.”

“I am not certain this is the time to discuss such things. And, you must stop appearing so suspicious. Right now, anyone who was looking would think you are plotting something.

“He is right,” Waylen stated softly. “Several people already are attempting to listen in on the secrets of young lords who deign to dine in a common tavern.”

Brandt scoffed and said, “It is not the first time lords have opted to dine in the city.”

“Maybe not, but it is likely the first for a group such as this,” Waylen’s thoughtful mind observed as he nodded toward the remainder of their party. Drascon, who sat Rezkin’s opposite at the other end, could not help his regular glances in their direction, but the others were all engaged in conversations of their own.

“May we accompany you to your room, then?” Palis asked.

“Why now?” Rezkin inquired. “Why not aboard the ship where fewer strangers may overhear?”

“Strangers, true,” said Palis, “but no fewer prying ears. My brother and Tieran are aboard, as well as Waylen’s father. They are heads or future heads of Houses, and it is best not to involve them in our… ah, activities…until we know their inclinations. I know not what Lord Nasque and Tieran believe, and Malcius has strong opinions, but he is reluctant to consider such radicalism.”

“And you are not?” Rezkin questioned.

“I believe what you said about duty and accountability,” Palis replied. “I would hear more about your…friend…if you would consent.”

“You feel the same?” Rezkin asked as he met the gazes of the other two young lords.

“Something must be done. I would lend him my support now, such as it is, if he were here to accept,” Brandt stubbornly remarked. Waylen simply granted him a confident nod with determined eyes.

“If I do not answer your questions?” Rezkin inquired.

“Then we will go to the striker,” Palis replied.

“And, if he does not?” the warrior pressed.

Palis shifted uncertainly, but Brandt asserted, “Then we will seek him out ourselves.” Palis glanced at Brandt and then nodded his agreement.

“You could get yourselves strung up if you were caught,” Rezkin warned.

“Possibly, but if it was made public, then at least the people would know about him,” Brandt replied dramatically.

“More likely you would all simply disappear or your deaths would be attributed to bandits. None would know of your martyrdom,” Rezkin remarked dispassionately.

“Malcius would know, and he would tell Tieran. Eventually they would tell Nasque, I am sure,” Palis argued.

“And it would get them killed as well,” Rezkin stated firmly.

“We cannot sit idly out of fear. Someone must do something. I do not see why it cannot begin with us,” Palis said with conviction.

Rezkin sat back and tapped the table as he eyed the young lords thoughtfully. “Very well. If it will prevent you all from dying needlessly, I will answer your questions. Be aware that there are some things I will not discuss. I ask you to respect my limitations.”

The three lords grinned widely, and Drascon noted the change in demeanor with interest. Rezkin finally said, “Journeyman, you may release your ward, now.”

Wesson looked up sharply and said, “How could you tell?”

“I sensed your use of power, and the lieutenant down there has been trying to determine why he cannot hear us,” Rezkin replied.

The mage’s brow furrowed, “You could sense that?”

“What did you do?” Waylen asked the mage curiously.

Wesson answered, “When you all started discussing the king and such, I erected a sound dispersal ward around us. I apologize that I had to be included, but it could not be avoided. The dispersal works only one direction, so you could still hear everything around you, but no one beyond the ward could hear anything that was said. It may have drawn a little attention from those who noticed the absence of your voices, but I think it was better than them hearing your words.”

“That was quite…proactive of you,” Waylen said, impressed.

The young mage flushed at the compliment. “It is my job,” he said looking to Rezkin for approval. “I was not too presumptuous, I hope, my lord?”

Rezkin waved off the concern and nodded approvingly as he applied a gracious smile, “Not at all. I value your forethought and encourage you to do similar when you think it is appropriate.” Wesson smiled with pride at his first employer’s appreciation.

“So,” Waylen started, his curiosity piqued, “How does this dispersal ward work?”

“Well, most mages construct a barrier to prevent the sound from leaving a certain area, but that is a constructive magic and more difficult for me. It would take quite a bit more time, focus, and vimara than creating the dispersal ward. Basically, as the sound hits the ward, which is shaped like a sphere of a particular diameter, the sound is broken apart. You see, sound is like an ocean wave that you cannot see. If you disrupt the wave enough, it simply falls apart and no longer exists.”

“So you can just destroy the sound before anyone hears it?” Waylen asked with surprise. “That is amazing. I never realized sound was like an actual physical thing. I mean, I never really thought about it before. I just knew that things make sounds and I can hear them with my ears. Is that why I cannot hear as well when I cover my ears?”

“Yes,” Wesson said excitedly as he explained. “The wave has to travel through your hands, which is more difficult, so it becomes distorted.”

“Fascinating,” Waylen remarked as he went on to ask a series of questions that eventually led to another discussion of the nature of light. The conversation was interrupted when an excited titter reached their ears.

“Lord Rezkin! It is so good to finally meet you. I have heard so much about you that I feel I know you already,” exclaimed a mature woman dressed in sophisticated travel ware. Silky black lace and ruffles fell to her feet beneath a burgundy velvet overcoat adorned with an attractive pink floral broach. Her hair was piled atop her head in a bouquet of golden curls beneath a dainty black hat pinned to one side. Large hazel eyes sparkled beneath thick, darkened lashes, and a welcoming smile graced her rose painted lips.

The men stood in greeting when the lady approached the table. Rezkin smiled cordially and bowed slightly over the woman’s proffered hand. He brushed his lips across her fingers as he said, “It is a pleasure to meet you, my lady, but I am afraid I am at a loss. Perhaps you would grace us with your name.”

The former Razor Edge Guildmaster from Kaibain sucked in a breath, and her face flushed as the most delicious man she had ever seen pressed his lips to her hand. She eventually gathered her wits and said, “Hilith Gadderand, widow to my dear departed husband, Lord Horus Gadderand.”

Rezkin bowed again and said, “Lady Hilith, I am pleased to meet you. I am sorry for your loss. Of course, I heard of Lord Gadderand’s departure, but I am afraid I was not acquainted with your husband personally.”

“Oh, do not concern yourself on my behalf,” Hilith replied. “I am beyond mourning. I cannot say his death was unexpected. Dear Horus was on in his years. He was quite a bit older, you see.”

Rezkin smiled pleasantly and responded, “I see.”

In truth, he had learned that poor Horus was barely fifty to Hilith’s thirty-three, and the man had died only a few months prior. The former Razor Edge Guildmaster was performing to expectation, except he felt she underplayed the effect of her husband’s death a bit too much. He thought the lady might have used her loss to greater advantage by garnering sympathy; but it seemed, for some reason, she wanted to assure him she was past it. Rezkin had originally planned to use the woman to improve his credibility and reinforce his persona of the high standing noble. When he made these plans, he had no idea the young nobles with whom he was traveling would be quite so receptive to him in the first place.

Hilith was elated about the task she had been assigned by the ominous Raven. The man told Hilith that by completing her tasks, she could prove herself to him and thereby keep her life. This task was to seek out a Lord Rezkin in Port Manai with whom The Raven had business dealings. Lord Rezkin was unaware that the man he dealt with, a man by the name of Lord Starling, was actually The Raven, Ashai’s most notorious criminal overlord. Lord Rezkin believed the business to be wholly legitimate. Hilith was to get close to Lord Rezkin and gain his confidence so that she could report back to The Raven about the young lord’s activities and other business and political maneuverings.

The Raven had assured Hilith that she would not enjoy her assignment, and, indeed, her trip to Port Manai had been miserable. Hilith hated traveling, and she hated traveling by boat even more. The sweltering heat and the constant rocking did terrible things to her stomach and head; and the filthy, uncouth ship’s crew reminded her of why she worked so hard to drag herself from the dregs of society. The workers only distanced themselves because she was a lady, but none of the men gave her the respect deserving of a thieves’ guildmaster. Of course, thanks to The Raven, she was a guildmaster no longer. She hated The Raven more than she hated traveling.

After The Raven’s assurances of misery, she had expected Lord Rezkin to be a miserable terror. When first she spied him from across the common room, she refused to believe this could possibly be the man to whom The Raven wished her to ingratiate herself. The Raven had described the man as being above average height with stark black hair and cold blue eyes. This man’s hair was onyx silk, and his eyes were anything but cold. They were crystal pools of clear, refreshing water that somehow appeared to see through to her very soul.

The fact that Lord Rezkin carried two swords like The Raven was notable, but this man carried them at his waist rather than across his back, and the scabbards and hilts were adorned with silver and silk, unlike The Raven’s plain but menacing blades. Perhaps the man was emulating the notorious scoundrel who not only took over most of the thieves’ guilds in Ashai but also the Black Hall. Once she heard that little tidbit about the infamous Raven, she was more than thankful to have escaped with her life and did not blame herself so harshly for the loss of her position. When Hilith finally met the dashing Lord Rezkin, she was suddenly filled with hope and not a small amount of desire. He was young, and Hilith knew how to entice a man.

“Please, Lady Hilith, allow me to introduce my companions.” Rezkin introduced the young lords first. When he introduced his own battle mage, she turned and studied Rezkin anew. The striking Lord Rezkin was far wealthier and more influential than she first thought, and she could understand why The Raven would want to keep an eye on the man.

Lord Rezkin surprised her when he introduced the plain young woman as his girlfriend. The fact that the woman Rezkin was courting just happened to be the heir to House Marcum and the General of the Army’s niece was not lost on her. It was no matter. The girl looked sweet but could never compete with Hilith’s practiced charms. What did surprise her was that the illustrious Lord Rezkin introduced a simple commoner as not only his employee but also his best friend. In her experience, the few nobles who deigned to befriend a commoner did not admit to it in public.

“Well, Lord Rezkin, you certainly travel with interesting company and with army officers as guards, no less. I am afraid I cannot say the same since my husband passed away. I am traveling to Skutton in hopes of making some new business deals, but you know how difficult these things can be for a woman traveling alone.” Hilith looked up at the towering demigod through thick lashes and licked her lips suggestively. “I imagine I would feel so much better traveling with such a group, especially with a man of your obvious strength and character at its head. A woman would be very grateful for the opportunity.”

Frisha abruptly stood with a heated glare, but Tam held her back from going any further. Hilith paid the silly girl no mind and reached out to stroke Lord Rezkin’s impressive bicep.

Lord Rezkin took Hilith’s roaming hand in his own and said, “It was a pleasure to meet you, Lady Gadderand, and I do hope you find yourself such an escort. As you can see, we have finished our meal and are ready to depart. I bid you a good evening.”

At that, Rezkin turned and away he strode. The entire group left the tavern with satisfied bellies and whispered snickers. Two of the Jebai House Guard who had accompanied the three young nobles, trailed behind. One of the guards surreptitiously made a comment that Rezkin was a fool for rejecting the beautiful and obviously experienced widow.

The lords followed Rezkin to his room, and the warrior requested Wesson’s presence, which was convenient since they were sharing a room. Frisha and Reaylin headed to their own room, while having a heated conversation full of insults. For once, none of them were directed at each other.

“I can’t believe the nerve of that woman!” Frisha exclaimed.

Reaylin donned a syrupy falsetto, and, furiously batting her lashes, said, “Oh, Lord Rezkin, you’re so big and strong. I’ll be your bed if you take me with you.”

The furious huffs and growls paused when the two women reached the top of the stairs and spied the group of men entering Rezkin’s room.

“They better not ask me to heal someone again,” Reaylin grumbled.

Frisha glanced at Reaylin wide-eyed and was overcome with curiosity as she called out, “Wait, Rez, what are you all doing?”

Rezkin glanced at the nobles who exchanged conspiratorial looks of their own. Palis finally turned to Rezkin and said, “She is your girlfriend. You must believe you can trust her with this if you hope to marry her.”

Rezkin frowned and looked at the young woman. “I do not keep anything from Frisha for fear that I cannot trust her. Anything she does not know has been kept from her for her own safety,” Rezkin stated.

Frisha smiled at Rezkin’s admission of faith in her, and then asked, “What is it? What’s going on?”

“It is nothing, Frisha. You should not concern yourself,” Rezkin stated. “They only wish to know more about the man we discussed before.”

“Of course I concern myself!” Frisha exclaimed. “I want to know more about him, too. I must know more of the man I am to serve as your wife,” she said with raised chin as she fought off a blush and pushed her way into his room. Without saying anything, Reaylin forced her way in, as well.

The warrior stepped into the room and took in the seating arrangements with interest. Frisha sat on one bed next to Palis with Reaylin beside her. Waylen and Wesson took up seats on the other bed, and Brandt sat in the single chair. The baron’s son and the mage seemed to have bonded over talk of magery, and Frisha and Reaylin were apparently willing to set aside their differences when faced with being the only females in a room full of men. Palis maintained his duty as familial escort by seating himself next to his cousin. Brandt was the determined nonconformist, as usual.

Rezkin leaned against the barred door and nodded to Wesson. He felt a tingle run through his blood as the spell was cast, and then he took a few steps forward until he could feel that he was within the sphere’s influence.

Wesson watched Rezkin move with interest. When the man was within the range of sound, he said, “Sorry about that. The room is longer than it is wide. If I extend it to the door, people in the adjacent room could potentially listen in, although I think it unlikely.”

“Above and below?” Rezkin inquired as his eyes roved the ceiling.

“The sphere stops at the floor there,” he said pointing to a spot centered on the group. “If you were to lay down where you are, you would not be able to hear. It does extend beyond the roof, but it would take a mage of considerable skill, I think, to listen through the layers of construction between.” The mage pondered for a moment and said, “I think I could layer a second spell to monitor the number of life signs within the sphere, but I would have to make adjustments for the size of the life forms. I would not care to know the number of mice and insects…” Wesson continued thoughtfully before being interrupted by his employer.

Rezkin held up a hand and said, “Just do as you think appropriate.” Wesson nodded appreciatively at his employer’s trust. The warrior placed his hands on his hips and said, “Okay, what do you wish to know?”

“Well, who is he?” asked Palis with excitement. The young man shook his head and said, “I know you will not tell us his identity, but who is he? What kind of man is he? What does he stand for?”

Rezkin thought the question over for a minute before saying, “He is a man who does what needs to be done. He does not desire the crown, but he will wrest it from Caydean if he must.”

“You heard what the tavern maid said,” Palis scoffed. “Trade is already suffering. Apparently, in the short time we have been traveling, trade deals with the Kingdom of Verril have already fallen through. After what the baron told us about the taxes and army recruitment, it is obvious the economy is in decline. Pretty soon it will completely crash, and the whole kingdom will be in dire trouble. How can you think it might not be necessary?”

The warrior raised a brow and said, “Then you support him already?”

Palis shifted and said, “I told you. I think something needs to be done. I do not know if your master is the solution.”

Rezkin nodded understanding and said, “He would agree. There are a number of men who could take charge of the kingdom. After Caydean and Thresson, Tieran’s father is the next in line.”

“Have you met Duke Wellinven?” Brandt asked dispassionately.

Rezkin cocked his head and said, “Would he not be better than Caydean?”

Brandt grimaced and said, “Perhaps, but Duke Atressian has almost as much claim, and he is much younger than Wellinven. He could argue that the imminent death of Wellinven so soon after turnover from Bordran and then Caydean could cause undo damage and strain on the kingdom, not to mention that Tieran does not want the throne. With the long-lived feud between the Houses, you can be sure that Wellinven would not defer to Atressian, especially if it meant losing the throne for his son. Duke Ytrevius currently has no male heir, so an attempt on the throne would be pointless. He will side with Atressian, and Darning will side with Wellinven, if he does not make a bid for the throne in his own right. It would be civil war – a war of Houses.”

“Careful, Brandt, you are close to revealing the intelligent and studious man you truly are,” Rezkin remarked. Palis was looking at Brandt as though seeing a stranger. “You believe that such would not be the case with the so-called true king?” Rezkin continued.

Brandt ignored his friend’s questioning look and replied with confidence, “It depends on the identity of the man, of course, but the dukes cannot dismiss King Bordran’s right to name his heir as easily as Caydean did. Besides, none of the dukes want to give up power to any of the others. They may be willing to back an unknown before conceding to one of their adversaries.”

Rezkin recognized the truth of Brandt’s words, but he did not think it would be so easy. Only Prince Thresson could depend on full support of the Council upon his brother’s death. The Council would be split no matter who attempted to seize the throne, otherwise.

The warrior sighed and said, “The so-called true king’s claim is not as clear as you might hope. Bordran never specifically stated the man was to be his heir.”

“I thought you said King Bordran named the man his heir,” Palis questioned with a hint of anger.

“That is Kai’s interpretation, and it is a valid one. It is one he holds to dearly because it gives him hope and allows him to retain his honor in choosing not to serve Caydean,” Rezkin stated.

“Please explain,” Palis demanded. His disappointment was almost palpable.

Rezkin frowned and stared at the floor as he thought about how to explain something so complex without giving himself away, particularly when he did not completely agree with the conclusion. “You are all aware of the authority granted a Sword Bearer, yes?”

Everyone nodded as Palis stated, “Every Sword Bearer is granted some kind of irrevocable authority as specified in his Certificate of Authority for the Sheyalin blade.”

Rezkin grunted and said, “It is only considered irrevocable because it can only be revoked by the blademaster’s death. Each blade is enchanted, as the journeyman can explain in greater detail. It is bonded to the Sword Bearer and to the king. The king can use his bond with the blade to keep track of the Sword Bearer, particularly in case he needs to revoke the authority, if you understand my meaning.”

“Interesting,” Waylen said. “I did not know that.” There were nods of agreement around the room.

Rezkin continued carefully, “Bordran bequeathed a Certificate of Authority unto this man. There are three key components that led to Kai’s assertion that this man is the rightful heir. First, in the certificate, the man’s name bears no title, family name, surname or place of origin of any sort, which is legally binding. It is the same manner in which the royal family, and only the royal family, is identified.

“Second, it is simply stated that the bearer receives all the rightful authority of a Sheyalin Sword Bearer, with no limitations specified. Essentially, he has unlimited power within and in regard to the Kingdom of Ashai. He has the Right of Rule. It is a power to rival the king,” Rezkin stated and continued thoughtfully, “– perhaps even greater than the king, since the king is supposed to be, at least in part, answerable to the Council.

“Third, Bordran, himself, released the king’s blade bond, freeing the bearer from the king’s oversight. The bearer is completely autonomous with equal power and authority to the king. Since all of this took place before Bordran’s death, obviously, it is tantamount to a declaration of rightful succession identifying the man in question as the heir apparent.”

“If what you say is true, I would have to agree,” Palis remarked. “It is not that I doubt you, Rezkin, but how can we be sure the certificate is genuine?”

“I have seen it and certified the certificate as true and has not been tampered with,” Wesson remarked. “By Oath of Power, I say it is so.”

“You have met him, too?” Waylen asked in surprise.

“I have,” Wesson said cautiously.

“You and Kai were both in Fendendril. Does that mean he was there as well? Is that where you met?” Waylen inquired excitedly.

“Yes, on both accounts,” Wesson carefully answered.

“Do you serve him as well?” Waylen asked.

“Ah, well,” he stuttered glancing at his employer, “I have sworn no allegiance, but I suppose I serve his cause, at the moment, as I am now employed by Rezkin. I am still undecided to what extent. Truth be told, I did not realize exactly what I was getting into when I agreed.” He nervously met the warrior’s gaze.

Rezkin nodded acceptance and said, “I apologize, Journeyman Wesson. Neither did I expect such revelations at the time when I made the offer of employment. If you have changed your mind, I will release you from your contract, and you many keep your pay.”

Wesson’s eyes widened in surprise, and he said, “You paid me for two months. I have not even served a week! I would serve my contract as agreed, if you do not mind.”

Rezkin smiled pleasantly and said, “Of course, Journeyman. I appreciate your service and work ethic.”

Frisha spoke up saying, “My father mentioned on a few occasions that trade was struggling, but I had little interest at the time and did not ask about how much or why. I know it was one of the reasons he made the arrangement with Uncle Marcum. Rez, I support your decision. If you say this man is to be trusted, then I believe you, but I was shocked when you said you do not serve King Caydean. I think that is something you should probably mention to your intended bride.”

The warrior bowed slightly in the lady’s direction and said, “You are correct, Frisha. It is one of the reasons I did not push the matter with the general. I told you I had secrets and that I believed you unable to make an informed decision at the time.”

“So General Marcum knows of the man?” Brandt asked in surprise. “And, he still accepted you as our escort? If the general knows, then surely the king must as well, unless the general serves the true king, now.”

Rezkin frowned and said, “No, the general is loyal to the crown, and as far as I know, he considers that to be Caydean. Marcum knows of the man and his authority, but he was not aware of the release of the blade bond, and I do not believe he thought through to the implication that the man is the rightful king. He merely recognizes the man as a Sword Bearer with unlimited authority.”

Frisha’s eyes widened with understanding. “That is why Uncle Marcum deferred to you! You were speaking on the man’s behalf, and you showed him some proof of the man’s authority, didn’t you? He thought you were using me to gain his support for your master. Is that the source of the problems between the two of you?”

The warrior furrowed his brow and said, “Your uncle was uncomfortable with me from the first, even before he received any proof of authority. As a lifelong military man, he recognized me as a potential threat, and he does not like you being involved in something so dangerous. However, his acceptance of my proposal could be viewed as support for my cause should my lack of allegiance to Caydean be made public.”

“You said the general is loyal to the crown, and the army is loyal to the general,” Brandt observed. “If he could be convinced the crown rests on the wrong head, he could draw the entire Army of Ashai to our cause.”

Rezkin raised a brow and looked pointedly at Brandt. “Our cause?”

Brandt shrugged as he leaned the chair back against the wall. “Despite what everyone thinks, I am not an idiot. If your master’s cause is to root out an evil despot and put things to rights, then we are of one cause.” Brandt looked around at the surprised faces. Brandt’s words were treason, but so was merely entertaining this conversation. “I do not concern myself that any of you will speak out against me. The mage, here, can swear under Oath of Power that you were all complicit in these proceedings. If one of use hangs, we all do.”

Palis scowled at Brandt and said, “No one was thinking of turning you in, Brandt,” although he eyed Reaylin wearily.

“Don’t look at me, Lord Palis,” the young woman said. “I serve the true king. Lord Brandt’s words are no treason to my ears.”

Frisha turned to Reaylin in surprise and said, “Since when do you serve the true king? You have met him?”

Reaylin shrugged but said, “No, but if I do, I will swear fealty to him.” Her face lit with a smile as she said, “Until then, I will serve him through Rez.”

Frisha frowned, not liking the way Reaylin talked of serving through her man. Turning questioning eyes on her boyfriend, Frisha asked, “Do I need to swear fealty to him, Rez?”

Rezkin shook his head. “He does not ask for anyone’s fealty.”

“Frisha said you spoke to General Marcum with the true king’s authority. Are you his Voice then? Do you speak for him?” Brandt inquired.

“Yes,” Rezkin replied thoughtfully. “I speak for the man known as the true king.” It was difficult having this conversation without revealing too much. Rezkin did not wish to outright lie to his friends. Once the truth came out, which it surely would, they would be angry and lose respect for him if they decided he had lied.

“Then you could accept vows of fealty on his behalf,” the young lord replied with a gleam in his eye.

Reaylin’s eyes darted excitedly to the warrior as she said, “Is that true? You can do that?”

Rezkin sighed and said, “Yes, I have that authority. But, I would not advise anyone to swear fealty to someone he or she does not know. You do not even know the man’s name. He could be a tyrant or a slave trader from MonCay for all you know.”

Reaylin laughed and said, “Oh, Rezkin, I can’t imagine you serving such a man. Besides, if he’s truly King Bordran’s chosen heir, then, as citizens of Ashai, we already owe him our fealty. Swearing it is just a formality. Bordran wouldn’t have chosen someone less worthy than his own son.”

“The woman has a point,” Brandt observed, eyeing Rezkin speculatively. “I have never heard of a king or a king’s Voice so intent on not garnering support. Does the true king intend to shirk his duties to King Bordran and Ashai and allow Caydean free reign?”

Rezkin’s crystal gaze took in the young man leaning nonchalantly back in the chair. Brandt’s gleeful smirk and the twinkle in his eye declared a challenge had been issued.

“Lord Brandt,” Rezkin said formally, “his duty is served only so long as it is to the benefit of Ashai. The scales must be weighed. Will Caydean’s actions cause more damage than all out war or is war inevitable? Because war is what it will be to take the throne. There are many who would not support the so-called true king’s claim, either for Caydean’s benefit or for their own, or simply because they would not have new blood upon the throne.”

Reaylin, who had been sitting idly gathering her courage, abruptly bounced to her feet and said, “Okay, what do I do?”

“What?” Brandt asked when he realized the young woman was speaking to him.

“What do I do? To swear fealty?” Reaylin asked glancing back and forth between the two lords.

Rezkin stared at the young woman as though peering into her soul. The others were unmoving and silent as they regarded her with a mixture of fascination, excitement, and fear. It was the fear of partaking in an action that one knows could lead to one’s death. It was an uncontrolled race over an icy plain on a raging horse. It was the ascension of a vertical cliff over a rocky shore battered by unrelenting waves. It was a duel to the death where not even the winner was sure to survive. The audience was riveted.

“Reaylin,” Rezkin said firmly, “this is not the kind of decision one makes on impulse.”

The tiny woman huffed and crossed her arms beneath her ample breasts. “I dare say I have thought this over more thoroughly than any of you. I’ve served the rebellion for several years.” She lifted her chin high and said, “Now my cause not only has right on its side but legitimacy. I can’t be accused of treason since I serve the true king.”

Rezkin cocked his head curiously as he considered the young woman once again. Reaylin had been a virtual blank in his repertoire of intelligence. She carried little with her, and he had no knowledge of any friends or relatives. He had been too busy manipulating events, gathering information, and creating a criminal empire to follow her to wherever she stayed in Kaibain.

“You are a rebel?” Palis nearly shouted.

Reaylin sniffed, “My comrades and I have always known of Caydean’s tyranny. Some of us were affected long before the rest of you even considered the problem. My father was one of the first to join the resistance about five years ago. We had no problem with King Bordran, but certain events drove people to refuse Caydean as his successor. Of course, everyone knew it would come someday, and some started to prepare. No one thought the old king would die so soon, though.” She turned questioning eyes on Rezkin and said, “Will you accept my oath on the king’s behalf?”

Rezkin met the girl’s eyes and said, “I will.” Not only was Reaylin’s admission a death sentence if anyone turned her in, she would be brutally interrogated to find out more about the rebels. The only way to protect the young woman, now, was to accept her fealty. Of course, if anyone went to the authorities, everyone present would all be tortured and put to death. Rezkin mentally cringed at the thought of having another vassal.

The young woman nodded firmly and said, “What do I do?”

Brandt’s chair tipped and slapped the floor as he abruptly leaned forward settling elbows on knees. “There are a number of oaths that are considered appropriate depending on your status. You were a commoner but are now a healer and claim to be a warrior. How do you swear?”

Reaylin lifted her chin and said, “I am a warrior.”

The young lord nodded and said, “You draw your sword and kneel with both knees to the ground, settling back on your heels. You hold your sword in offering before you in both hands. Tradition states that the hilt should rest in the open palm of your left hand.” Reaylin moved to stand within a few feet of Rezkin and followed the lord’s instructions. “Good, now, you lower your eyes and say, ‘Under the watchful gaze of the Maker and before the eyes of three lords of the land, one lady heir, and one mage, I, Reaylin…’”

“de Voss,” the young woman added as she repeated after the lord.

“do hereby swear honor and fealty to…” Brandt paused, unsure what to say without a name.

Wesson interjected, “the True King, so named and served by Rezkin as His Voice.”

Brandt nodded in thanks and picked up narration of the remainder of the oath, “I name the True King my liege, my lord, my king. By my blade I will protect and serve him as my king. Let this oath be binding above and beyond all previous oaths, so let my loyalty be known.”

Chapter 13

Reaylin finished repeating the oath. Her hands were shaking slightly but her voice held firm and confident. Rezkin grasped the hilt and rested the flat of the blade on the crown of the woman’s head. His form was tall and broad, his bearing exuded power, and his deep voice resounded with kingly authority as he intoned, “Reaylin de Voss, I, Rezkin, do hereby accept your oath of fealty and your blade in service to the True King. In return, I offer you protection and sanctuary on His behalf, such as He is capable of providing.”

In that moment, all present were certain that Rezkin was a king in his own right. None could deny his majesty. Reaylin beamed up at him with pride, and the others felt an intense desire to kneel before their liege. Just as Frisha rose to her feet, Rezkin tipped the sword down and stepped back. The surreal moment was suddenly lost when Rezkin once again appeared to be only himself. He held the sword out for Reaylin to collect as she stood. Although the sudden feeling had passed, none could forget how they felt in that brief moment.

Wesson abruptly blurted, “I understand now! I know how it works!”

Everyone’s attention swerved to the journeyman, and he realized he had spoken aloud.

“Oh, ah, sorry. It was a stray thought not meant to have been spoken,” he said, but his eyes met Rezkin’s, as if to say they would speak later.

Palis rubbed his chin thoughtfully and said, “I have never actually seen anyone swear fealty before. How did you know the words and method?” The last was directed at his friend, Brandt, who seemed determined to surprise him that night.

Brandt shrugged and said carelessly, “I read it somewhere.” The young lord looked at Reaylin who was standing proudly and grinning like a little girl. “You do realize that the particular oath you swore is dependent upon Rezkin identifying for you your sworn liege. He could tell you the True King is Palis or the stable hand or even claim the title for himself. He could even choose to never identify your king, and you would be bound to serve Rezkin for the rest of your life.” The way he emphasized true king leant it the weight of a title rather than simple description.

Reaylin’s eyes roved over the stoic warrior as she said with a sultry smile, “I don’t think I’d mind serving Rezkin any way he desires.”

Frisha, who was still standing, raised her hand to slap the woman, but Palis caught her wrist with a warning glare. Rezkin, however, smiled broadly and said, “Good, then your first task is to become a healer.”

The woman’s face fell as she began to protest, “But…”

Rezkin raised a hand and said, “You are a loyal subject, are you not?”

“I…” the woman huffed, “Yes, but…”

“Then you will do as you are told,” he said firmly. He did not ask for vassals, but if people insisted on swearing their fealty to him, he would demand they honor their vows.

Reaylin snapped her mouth shut and hung her head. She dipped an awkward curtsy and said, “Yes, my lord.”

Glancing around the room, Rezkin asked, “Is that all? Are your curiosities satisfied for the night?”

Brandt’s eyes rested on the floor between Rezkin and Reaylin where the woman had knelt, and for a moment, the warrior thought the young noble would opt to kneel as well. The young man shook himself free of his thoughts and glanced around.

“I want to know more about the rebels,” he said as his eyes came to rest on Reaylin.

“Well, I’m not talking about them. You and I serve opposing kings, and I do not intend to betray my people,” Reaylin asserted.

Brandt shifted uncomfortably and replied, “What are you talking about? We do not serve opposing kings.”

The woman crossed her arms and lifted her chin as she said, “If you do not serve the True King, then you serve the Usurper Caydean. That makes you my enemy.”

“By the Maker, woman, is there no middle ground with you?” Brandt exclaimed.

Reaylin scowled and replied, “This is war, Lord Brandt. If Caydean knew of my allegiance and ordered you to kill me, you would be obliged to carry out his order. We may occupy the same room, the same ship, the same kingdom, but we are not on the same side. I’ve chosen mine. By default, you’ve chosen yours.” The woman spoke with the passion and confidence of a long-time rebel. In that moment, Rezkin began to see the woman for who she truly was.

Brandt’s attention darted to Rezkin as he exclaimed, “Is this your opinion, as well?”

Rezkin cocked his head and said, “I would not begin to label the entire Kingdom of Ashai my enemy. Most follow Caydean because they do not know there is an alternative.”

Reaylin scowled and argued, “He is not an alternative. He is the True King. To say otherwise implies that Caydean has a right to the throne, which he does not.”

The warrior nodded slightly in acquiescence and said, “I concede the point.” These vassals were going to force him to claim kingship by virtue of semantics. “Still, I would not claim those who do not know of the True King to be enemies. They serve their king not out of choice but out of ignorance.”

“And those of us who do know?” Brandt pressed.

Rezkin cocked his head, and replied, “Technically, you would be considered an enemy by default. I recognize that you have had little time to digest the knowledge, but if events continue as they are, you will eventually have to choose a side. I do not disparage your caution. In fact, I would consider it to be irresponsible for one of your status to swear fealty to an unseen and unnamed liege. I only accepted Reaylin’s under such conditions because she already serves the rebellion. And, since I am not seeking to collect your fealty, the point is moot.”

“Rezkin, I don’t want to be considered your enemy,” Frisha said pleadingly. “I would swear fealty to your king, as well.”

The warrior shook his head and said, “I will not accept your fealty at this time, Frisha.” Before she could protest he said, “I have my reasons, not the least of which is your uncle. You may swear whatever oaths you please, but not until you know the man’s identity, at the least.” Rezkin noted Wesson’s unconscious nod of approval. The mage was just as perceptive and contemplative as Waylen but was less obvious in his outward expressions. With the baron’s son it was easy to tell when he was studying someone, but Wesson had a way of observing and calculating while appearing to be completely unaware or focused on other activities. The mage was constantly evaluating Rezkin, the warrior king.

Brandt stood and said, “You know I respect you, Rezkin, but I think you are wrong in this. You should be collecting as much loyalty to your cause as possible when the opportunity permits.”

“To the detriment of the loyal subjects?” Rezkin asked.

“What do you mean?” the young lord asked.

“If you were to swear fealty to the True King, what would your father say should he learn of your loyalty?” Rezkin inquired.

“What do I care?” Brandt scoffed.

“I think you do care, Brandt, more than you would like us to believe,” Rezkin asserted. “Would he disown you? Would he turn you in to the king or Council? What if someone else found out before the True King has gained enough influence? Your House would fall and everyone in it hanged for treason.”

“How can the True King gain influence if he has no followers?” Brandt countered.

“It is a conundrum,” the warrior remarked. “As the Heads of Houses, you would have certain influence. As heirs, you are a liability. Word will get out soon enough. I think Kai will see to that. The man is determined,” Rezkin grumbled. “Let your fathers find out first. Let them make their decisions. Once they have done so, then you may decide if you agree or disagree. You will be aware of the consequences should you reject their conclusions.”

“You are saying I should just let my father decide?” Brandt scoffed.

“No, I am saying to let your father make his choice known first,” Rezkin urged. “If your intent is to join the True King, and your father comes to the same conclusion on his own, then all is well. If, however, you and your father are in disagreement, then you will have more difficult choices to make. Do not limit yourself, now, by making oaths that could have serious consequences in the future.”

The young lord looked at Rezkin askance, “I do not know whether I respect you more for your candor or less for being the absolute worst recruiter in the history of the world.”

Wesson piped up saying, “He is right, Rezkin. You are not doing your cause any favors.”

“You, too?” Rezkin asked in surprise.

“I am not agreeing to anything,” Wesson said hastily. “I am only saying that you are going about this the wrong way, and I think it is because you have not yet accepted the reality of the events that are taking place and the inevitability of your place in them…as the King’s Voice, I mean,” the mage hedged.

Wesson was right. If Rezkin truly was running a campaign to garner support for his bid for the throne, this was a poor way to go about it. The problem was that Rezkin still rejected the idea of claiming the throne. He had been trained to carry out orders without question. Since gaining his independence, he had learned to appreciate no longer serving another. Now, they were asking him to subject an entire kingdom to his authority. It was such a deviation from his upbringing that his mind immediately protested. Rezkin realized he needed to accept his role and embrace his given purpose, just as he had been telling the others to do.

“Perhaps it is time for a change. I will consider your words, but you all have other things on which to concentrate. I will make a decision but not before the end of the tournament,” Rezkin asserted. He looked at each of them and said, “You realize that if my part in all of this is made public, you and anyone else in my company will automatically be associated with the True King, as well? For now, we are only traveling together on the same ship. You could claim no knowledge or personal association. If you are seen in my presence beyond that, for example, while in Skutton, you will be branded traitors in Caydean’s eyes once he learns of my loyalties, whether you support my cause or not.”

Palis stood and said, “It is a valid concern, and I will mention it to the others. Since it appears we will get little more information out of you regarding the True King, I will retire.”

The others, with the exception of his roommate, stood and shuffled out of the room. Frisha stopped in the doorway and looked up at the warrior longingly. “I am with you, Rez – always.”

Rezkin looked into the young woman’s warm, brown eyes and said with sincerity, “Thank you.” He truly did appreciate the woman’s loyalty. She had been a good selection for his Girl Friend. He would have to thank whoever was in charge of such things. He paused when he realized that whoever assigned him his friends was probably dead, having died in the fortress. Did that mean he would have no more friends, or had they all already been selected and were just waiting to be found?

After following the women to their room and trapping their door, Rezkin returned to his own room and slid the bar into place. The mage watched him curiously as he went about checking for traps and poisons. He had been unable to do so earlier with all of the visitors. The warrior had come to realize that this was considered odd behavior. No one else with whom he had shared a room had done the same, and they had always questioned him and watched with concern, just as the mage was doing now.

Rezkin washed his hands, face, and teeth in the basin and then finally settled on his bed. “What did you figure out?” he asked.

“Hmm? What?” Wesson asked with confusion.

“Earlier, you suddenly shouted that you had figure it out – how it works. What was it?” Rezkin questioned.

“Oh, that. Um, yes, I thought I had figured something out, but now it just seems silly. Forget I said anything,” the journeyman said, brushing off the concern.

“No, tell me. What was this epiphany?” the warrior pressed.

Wesson’s eyes rested on the ceiling as he pondered and scratched his head. “Well, it seems to be a little fuzzy, now. I remember thinking I had figured out how some spell works. Yes…it was a spell…on you, I think.” He furrowed his brow in deep concentration and then leaned forward on his bed to look closely at Rezkin. He did not seem to be looking at the man so much as looking through him…and around him. A light once again began to dawn in the journeyman’s eyes.

“Tell me, Rezkin. Who are you?” he asked.

Rezkin frowned and said, “I am your employer.”

Wesson shook his head in agreement and said, “Yes, I know that you are. Now, tell me that you are a shepherd.”

“What? Why would I say that?” Rezkin asked curiously.

“Please, just humor me,” Wesson requested as he continued to stare into some unseen level of Rezkin.

“Fine, I am a shepherd,” Rezkin muttered.

The mage shook his head and said, “No, this time, make it so in your mind first and then tell me.”

Rezkin nodded his understanding. This was an exercise he had practiced many times in his training. He had to become the character he played. He set in his mind the truthful fact that he was a shepherd and then smiled pleasantly, as a shepherd might, and said, “Journeyman, I am a shepherd.”

“Of course you are, Rezkin,” Wesson nodded, “but that has little bearing on the spell that is cast upon you. Your profession is unimportant.”

Rezkin furrowed his brow and said, “But, Wesson, I am a shepherd.”

“I know, Rezkin. I cannot fathom how a shepherd could have gathered such influence with the nobles, but I applaud your accomplishment. What I need for you to do now is tell me that you are something you are not.”

The warrior cocked his head curiously and selected another identity from his repertoire. “I am the Sandean ambassador en route to witness the King’s tournament.” This he said in Ashaiian with a perfect Sandean accent.

Wesson’s eyes widened, and he said excitedly, “Yes, your honor, it will surely be a splendid showing.” The journeyman shifted uncomfortably and said, “Are you certain you would not prefer more appropriate quarters? This seems a bit…unimpressive…for a man of such esteem.” As he glanced around the room and took in Rezkin’s appearance, the mage’s confidence in his surroundings began to wane. His brow furrowed, and he took in Rezkin’s appearance once more with concern, “You said you are the Sandean ambassador, correct?”

Setting in his mind an understanding of himself, Rezkin stated, “I am Rezkin.”

Wesson’s stiff shoulders relaxed as he sat back against the wall. He looked up at Rezkin and said, “I am confused. Just a moment ago, I was absolutely certain you were the Sandean ambassador and before that I knew you were a shepherd.”

Rezkin eyed the mage warily and replied, “You said you had figured out the spell that was placed on me.”

The mage’s eyes lost focus as he concentrated on his thoughts and then he nodded slowly, “Yes…yes, that would explain it.” With a broad smile and more confidence, he looked at Rezkin and said, “That was what I figured out! It is so subtle. It has to be one of the most intricate spells I have ever heard of. I cannot even see or feel it, for that matter. I would not have noticed at all except that I have been observing you so closely.”

“What is it, Journeyman?” Rezkin prodded. He wanted the mage to get it out before he forgot what he was saying again.

“It is as I said before. You are hiding in plain sight. It is a sort of mental compulsion or misdirection.” He shook his head and said, “No, it is more than that. When you form your will into convincing someone that you really are who you want them to believe you are, the spell pushes that person’s mind into believing it is so. In a way, it is like the enchantment on a seal. The enchantment compels a person to simply know the seal is valid. When you told me you were a shepherd, I just knew it was so. I did not question it. But, the spell cannot turn a shepherd into a king. In other words, the role has to be convincing.

Wesson waved his hands excitedly as he said, “You are dressed in a plain shirt and pants while staying in a relatively barren room of an average inn. My mind could believe you are a shepherd, despite the high quality of your garb. When you said you were the ambassador, my mind believed you at first; but your surroundings, clothing, and behavior were not convincing. My mind began to rebel against what it thought it knew.”

“So, you are saying that if I dress and act the part, I can convince someone that I am anything I wish?” Rezkin asked astounded.

“Yes, but there are limitations,” Wesson warned. “The spell seems to have only a certain area of influence, although I cannot say how large of an area. Also, you cannot convince someone that you are a specific person, particularly if that person is known. For example, you cannot convince Lord Tieran that you are Lord Malcius. Also, some people will be less susceptible than others, particularly those who are attuned to a certain position or are experts in a field. If your behavior and appearance deviate perceptibly from the character you are portraying, the person will not be convinced. He or she will become suspicious or instinctually feel you are a threat, some kind of predator preying on a weak mind. For example, you will not be able to convince a Master Healer that you are also a healer if you have no knowledge of healing. In addition, it may be less convincing for certain types of mages. ”

“Which is why you were able to detect it,” Rezkin observed.

Wesson nodded, “Yes, but it still took several days of being in your presence constantly. During that time, you have shifted your behavior numerous times, depending on who is in your presence. You have been playing multiple parts, even though the differences are increasingly blurred. The people around you are privy to varying levels of your secrets, so you are essentially playing a different character for each. I have been present for many of these different characters, so the changes are more apparent.

“My mind and power have a natural tendency to break down spells, as well. Still, if you had maintained only one persona at all times, I may not have been able to pick up on it for a very long time, if at all.” The mage rubbed his chin thoughtfully and said, “Even now, I cannot determine if you are who I think you are. I do not know if I am being influenced by the spell at this time.”

“You are certain this is a spell that was placed on me? How can you be sure if you cannot see it?” Rezkin asked.

“The only other possibility is that you are casting the spell, but since you are not a mage, we can rule that out,” Wesson stated. Another thought popped into the mage’s mind. “I do not think you could convince a mage that you are also a mage. Since the mage would not be able to detect any talent in you, he would not be convinced. I am not certain, though. We could test the hypothesis.”

Rezkin looked at the mage and willed him to believe as he said, “I am a mage.”

Wesson’s eyes widened and said, “You are a mage! How could I not see this before? It is not possible for you to have hidden your powers for so long!”

The warrior shook his head and said, “I am not a mage, Journeyman.”

The mage’s face fell, and his brow furrowed. “Are you sure?”

Rezkin focused his will and said firmly, “I am not a mage.”

“No, I suppose you are not,” Wesson agreed. He paused when he saw Rezkin’s pointed stare. “Oh, I guess I was wrong.” His brow furrowed as he said, “I cannot see how that works. It should not be possible for the spell to mimic the sense of talent in another person.”

“If all of this is true, then what has it to do with making you forget your concerns?” the warrior inquired.

“You willed it to be so,” Wesson explained. “You may not even realize you are doing it, but you are probably willing people to see you as normal. When I brought up my suspicions, your unconscious mind probably wanted me to forget that I noticed a problem. You willed me to think I was mistaken, but the more I noticed the oddities, the less effective the spell. That is compounded with the fact that you have a strong desire to know the truth, so I have been able to maintain the line of thought.”

“Then, I am controlling people’s minds?” Rezkin asked with abhorrence. To think that anyone would be capable of such a thing made his muscles tense.

Wesson pursed his lips and shook his head slightly. “More like influencing their perception. It is like donning a well-made disguise or acting a role very convincingly. You are only convincing people to accept what they see and hear as truth. You cannot convince me that your hair is blonde, because I can see that it is not. Likewise, I would not believe that you are a woman or a black-skinned Pruari or some other ridiculous notion.”

The warrior considered how this new revelation fit in with the rest of his training. In truth, it changed little. Unbeknownst to him, his masters had prepared him to use the spell just as they had trained him to use his Skills. He would still be required to don his disguises and act the part, but he now understood that if he did those things well, he was more likely to convince others he was genuine. It could also explain the initial hostility of both the general and Tieran. Rezkin had not been attempting to play any role when he met either of them for the first time, but he may have unconsciously been exerting his unfocused will. The general and the young high lord would not know of what exactly they were being convinced, but they would sense that something was wrong with him.

General Marcum, as General of the Army, was attuned to recognize an experienced warrior – a killer. Rezkin had not even attempted to convince the general that he was either commoner or noble, but the general knew he was a threat from the start. Tieran found it particularly difficult to accept Rezkin’s role as an influential lord because he had already met Rezkin on a previous occasion when he had not been playing the role. The other young lords, however, saw him as an important noble from the start. In addition, although inexperienced and largely untrained, Tieran was a life mage, which could have prevented the spell from being completely effective. The young warrior pondered these revelations that night as he drifted to sleep.

The next day, Rezkin made the excuse of exercising Pride so he could get away from his companions. With more and more people surrounding him at all times, it was increasingly difficult to find time alone to take care of his other business. He packed his saddlebags with a change of clothes that included his black hood and rode away from the city. After exercising the restless stallion, he left the horse to graze in a grassy area near an abandoned garden. The area was secluded and happened to be near the Port Manai branch of the Razor Edge thieves’ guild. The Razor Edges were the only major guild operating in the city; but ink dealers abounded, and because it was a major port city, the black market was extensive.

When Rezkin found the guildhall, he was surprised to find the blackened symbol of a raven burnt into the wood above the door. It was not even midday, yet, a time when business was slow for thieves and most of them were abed. No one was manning the door, so Rezkin let himself in and stood examining the facility for several moments before someone finally noticed his presence.

“Hey! Who are you? Who let ya in?” a wiry middle-aged man asked as he strode into the room wiping his hands on a rag. By the look of him and the smell that followed, the man must have been preparing the midday meal.

Rezkin cocked his head curiously, and, with a focus of will, replied, “I am The Raven, and I need no invite to enter my House.”

The man’s eyes bulged out of his head, and he dropped the rag. Once he regained his senses, he sputtered, “Oh, yes, Master. We’re pleased to have ya. Please don’t take no offense. I didn’t realize who ya were. Ah…I’ll let Vrey know yer here.”

Vrey turned out to be the newest guildmaster, having just gained his position a few days prior. It seemed word of The Raven’s exploits reached the city quickly. The old guildmaster denounced The Raven, claiming the guild would never serve the insidious overlord. The guildmembers, having already heard the stories of what happened to people who rejected The Raven, rebelled against the old guildmaster on The Raven’s behalf. Rezkin had not had to do a single thing to claim this guild, and already they were at his call.

After issuing his orders, the young warrior had nothing more to do, so Rezkin decided it was time to learn more about this mysterious Shadow Knight. When Rezkin returned to the inn, it was nearing midday meal. Tam gladly handed over his copy of Tales of the Shadow Knight for Rezkin’s perusal. The young man was actually quite excited to share the subject of his childhood fantasies. Having no desire to remain indoors, the young warrior proposed a picnic to a reportedly beautiful and peaceful cove to the west of the city. The popular tourist spot just happened to be only a short distance beyond the new fort that Rezkin had yet to investigate, although he had sent Kai to inspect the place. Malcius and Tieran had just readied themselves for the day and somehow managed to drag Shiela from the inn.

Port Manai was on the larger side for a town, or perhaps it was a small city. The group was able to rent a couple of open top carriages and a number of horses for the large party to travel to the cove. Baron Fendendril chose to stay behind at the inn, but Waylen joined the group, as well as the Jebais, Tieran, Reaylin, Wesson, Tam and Frisha. Two of the Jebai House Guards, one of the baron’s guards, and Lieutenant Drascon and Captain Jimson provided escort.

The cove was small and quiet except for the subdued lap of calm water against the pebbly beach. The land wrapped around in modest cliffs, blocking out most of the noise and wind of the sea, and only a soft breeze blew across their heated faces. Although smooth and inviting in the heat, the salty water was dark and murky. The locals claimed this was due to the large amount of sediment and debris that washed out of the Tremadel and was carried along the shore by the currents. As the visitors gazed over the liquid expanse, small fish visited the surface, sometimes even leaping clear of the water. Each young man boasted that had he a fishing pole, he would certainly catch the largest fish.

“I do not know why you people insist on being out in this heat under the blazing sun,” Shiela complained from beneath a frilly parasol.

“It was not any better in the inn. At least out here we have a fresh breeze. Besides, it is cooler by the shore,” Malcius remarked.

“And we can go swimming!” Palis interjected. “We have never been swimming in the ocean.”

“You can go swimming. Just what am I supposed to do?” Shiela asked.

“Perhaps you could read,” Rezkin suggested as he held up Tam’s book.

Shiela crossed her arms awkwardly as she held the parasol and huffed. “I did not think to bring a book. What we need is some entertainment,” she said as her eyes traveled up and down the warrior’s body.

Rezkin smiled cordially and said, “Perhaps you would grace us with some, then.”

“Me? Just what do you expect me to do out here? Maybe Frisha can do something. I saw a commoner juggling in the square once. Do you juggle, Frisha?”

Frisha narrowed her eyes at her irritating cousin and replied, “I am not a circus performer, Shiela. It’s not like every commoner goes around juggling!”

Shiela’s response died on her lips as both women’s attention was drawn to the jumble of smooth stones that were now spinning in the air. Palis and Brandt burst out laughing in a round of applause.

“Is this the juggling to which you were referring?” Rezkin asked as he walked around the women. Six palm-sized rounded stones tumbled through the air in a complicated, alternating pattern.

“Say, that’s impressive!” Tam exclaimed.

Tieran looked at Rezkin askance. “Why in the world would you desire to learn such a thing?”

Rezkin frowned in contemplation as he continued lobbing the stones in the air. “Well, this can help to hone one’s reflexes and train the mind and hands to work together.”

“You did mention a propensity for picking up multiple hobbies, but this is a bit extreme, Rezkin,” Malcius observed. “When do you ever relax?”

Frisha and Tam both laughed. “Rezkin never sits still,” the young woman exclaimed. “He always has to be doing something.”

“And it usually involves lots of hard work and sweat,” Tam added.

“Not true,” Rezkin stated as he allowed the stones to fall to the ground. “In fact, I intend to settle right over there against that rock and read your book, Tam, while the lords make us lunch.”

“What?” Tieran and Malcius exclaimed at the same time.

“You expect us to make our meal?” the duke’s son questioned with disbelief.

Rezkin grinned and said, “The cuts of meat are in the basket over there.”

Brandt lifted the lid on the basket and said, “This meat is raw! What do you expect us to do with raw meat?”

“I expect you to cook it, of course,” Rezkin replied.

“With what?” Malcius asked.

The young warrior shook his head in silent admonishment. “Were you not saying you learned nothing at your survival training? It was you who said that you could not survive in the wild. The very least you can learn is to make a fire and cook some meat. You do not even have to hunt or butcher it. The meat is already prepared.”

The anxious lords’ lack of confidence was clear as they looked at each other in concern. The guards tried to keep the grins from their gruff faces, but they nudged and muttered to each other just the same.

Malcius scratched his head and said, “Now, uh, what are we supposed to do first? I guess we need some wood.”

“I think we need to dig a pit, right?” Brandt asked.

“It is all sand and rocks here. There is no brush to catch fire. I do not think we need a pit,” Palis observed.

As the young lords argued and discussed what they thought was necessary to build a fire and cook their meat, Rezkin settled on a blanket beside a small boulder and opened the book Tam had loaned him. Frisha, Shiela, and Reaylin all settled on the blanket, as well, and arrayed themselves about the young warrior like a lovely harem.

“How, exactly, are we supposed to light the fire?” Tieran called out as he tugged at his hair in frustration. “Where is that battle mage when you need him?”

“Honestly, Tieran. Do you really need a battle mage to light your cook fire?” Rezkin asked.

“It is not like I walk around with a firestick,” Tieran muttered.

“You are the mage,” Brandt scoffed. “Why do you not just light it with your powers?”

Scowling, Tieran said, “I do not possess that kind of talent. I cannot even create the tiniest spark. Otherwise, this task would have been done already!”

“I guess we could try rubbing two sticks together,” Malcius said facetiously.

The young warrior sighed dramatically and said, “You will find flint and steel in the basket.” In the end, it was Waylen who showed the superior lords how to light the fire. After a while, a deep chuckle sounded from a few paces away.

“Now this is what I like to see,” the striker announced shortly after arriving on the beach. “Lord Rezkin relaxing with a good book while surrounded by beautiful women as the lesser lords labor to prepare his meal.”

“Who are you calling a lesser lord?” questioned a disgruntled Tieran. “To which House do you belong, Rezkin?” he asked as his frustration got the better of him. All activity stopped as the other lordlings waited for an answer.

The young warrior calmly looked up from his book and stared at Tieran as he arched a brow. “Your spit fell over.”

Tieran furrowed his brow in confusion, and then his eyes widened. He looked down to see that the spit had indeed fallen over, and the meat was half in the sand and half in the fire. “Oh, bloody Hells!” he shouted as the other lordlings scrambled to repair the damage. Lunch was a bit gritty and somehow both burnt and undercooked, but the lords felt a certain satisfaction just the same. Rezkin had been right. It felt good to be able to fend for oneself. They all agreed they had no desire to ever do it again.

Chapter 14

The following morning, the entire traveling party met back at the harbor. Upon arrival, they just happened to run into a certain widow who was standing around the docks for no particular reason.

“Lord Rezkin, it is good to see you here,” Hilith exclaimed as she rushed up to the young lord.

Rezkin smiled pleasantly and bowed in greeting. “Lady Gadderand, the pleasure is mine.”

“Yes, well, that could be arranged,” the woman said with a flutter of her lashes. She knew she hit her mark when the plain young woman at the lord’s side gasped in indignation. “I was so hoping to discuss some trade opportunities with you. Our mutual business partner, Lord Starling, mentioned that you might be open to new business ventures.”

“You have business deals?” Frisha directed at Rezkin in surprise.

Rezkin patted the dainty hand she rested on his forearm and said, “I have recently expanded my dealings to include almost all of Ashai. Lord Starling is one of my associates.”

“All of Ashai? I had no idea you were so successful, Rezkin,” Tieran commented. “Perhaps we should discuss some business of our own.”

Rezkin inclined his head and said, “Of course, Tieran. It would be my pleasure. I must not be rude, though. Allow me to introduce Lady Hilith Gadderand, widow of the late Lord Gadderand. Lady Gadderand, this is Lord Tieran Nirius, Heir to Wellinven.” The young warrior’s eyes sparkled with silent mirth as he watched Hilith’s reaction. He was certain that, having wheedled her way into such a minor House as Gadderand, she had never encountered anyone from one of the major Houses, much less a future Duke.

“It is an honor to meet you Lord Nirius. I had no idea you traveled in such illustrious company, Lord Rezkin,” Hilith remarked.

Tieran eyed Rezkin sideways and muttered, “I was merely born to privilege. Anyone should feel greater honor in Rezkin’s presence than my own.”

He made the remark facetiously, but deep down he knew the statement to be true. The incident on the beach the previous day had only proven, once again, the superiority of Rezkin’s capabilities in pretty much all things. Then, he learns that Rezkin had dealings all over Ashai. Rezkin had not said the dealings were House business, either, which meant they were his, personally. The duke’s son did not feel inclined to doubt the man. Every claim Rezkin made he had been able to back up ten fold. Tieran could not imagine how the younger man had accomplished so much in so few years. Because he was the duke’s son and was in the line of ascension, Tieran had always been the leader of his entourage. People looked up to him and respected him simply for being of such high station. Now, after seeing a man even younger than he who was truly deserving of respect, Tieran wondered how much of the respect he garnered was genuine.

Everyone who heard the comment looked at Tieran questioningly. He glanced around at wondering eyes and shrugged. “What? I speak only truth.”

Hilith’s eyes bounced back and forth between the heir to possibly the mightiest House in Ashai beneath the royal family and the unknown entity that was Lord Rezkin. She suddenly felt completely ill prepared for her task. The Raven had not mentioned that Lord Rezkin was of such high standing, nor did he mention to which House the man belonged. It would be rude for her to ask, and she did not want anyone else to know she was ignorant of a fact that obviously should have been known by all of the gentry.

“Well, of course Lord Rezkin has my highest regard, and I would be more than happy to show him how much so,” Hilith said with a flirtations perusal, “in our business dealings, of course,” she finished before anyone could accuse her of being inappropriate.

Rezkin put his arm around an angry Frisha and drew her to his side. The young woman’s features softened with his blatant claim, and she smiled at him fondly. “Perhaps, Lady Gadderand, we will have the opportunity to discuss business in Skutton. You did say you were heading that way, yes?”

“Well, yes…”

“Excellent, then we shall meet again. For now, we must be off. As you can see, our ship is boarding as we speak. I wish you a good voyage, Lady Gadderand.” Once again, Hilith was left watching Lord Rezkin’s retreating form, which was a fantastical form at that.

The party boarded the Luna Mara, and while everyone was settling their belongings, Kai studied the Gadderand woman from the deck of the ship. Something was off about that woman, and he thought his king must have detected it as well, since he had shut her down so succinctly. The older man wanted to laugh. Rezkin had been friendly, respectful, cordial and outright dismissive. Women practically threw themselves at his feet, but the young man remained completely unaffected, save for with Frisha. Had he been in the same situation at Rezkin’s age, he did not believe he would have been capable of such restraint.

The ship headed into the open waters of the Souelian Sea between the mainland and the isles, and it had just as much up and down as it did side to side. Reaylin immediately felt ill and was soon followed by Malcius, Frisha, and Tam. Wesson used his powers to heat water for Rezkin to brew a tea to settle their stomachs.

“Why did you brew it that way?” Wesson asked as he watched Rezkin go through a serious of complicated motions.

Rezkin shrugged and said, “It makes the herbs more potent and promotes faster effect.”

“You are correct. It would – if you were an alchemist. It only works if you infuse the solution with adamantine power. Adamantine power is the type of power wielded by healers, so named for its brilliant luster under mage sight,” the mage explained.

Rezkin shrugged and replied, “I know what adamantine power is, and I do it this way because that is how I was taught. I did not realize it was an alchemical technique.”

“Well, it is unnecessary since you do not have the talent,” Wesson remarked.

“I will continue to do it this way because it is irresponsible to lose knowledge just because it is not useful at this time,” Rezkin stated. After further thought he said, “If I have been taught alchemical methods in my healing techniques, then it could prove useful for Reaylin’s training. I assume you are not versed in such techniques since you do not have the affinity?”

Wesson shook his head and replied, “No, you are correct. I have very little training in mage healing since I was unable to perform even the simplest spells.” The young man sniffed and said, “A talent reader told me that the thread of adamantine in my vimara is so thin it was barely visible.”

“I am unfamiliar with readers. What exactly does a talent reader do?” Rezkin queried.

“A talent reader is someone who can not only sense the talent in others but can actually see the individual strands of power in a person’s vimara. Other mages, like myself, cannot sense the strength of another mage’s power. We can only sense that it is present. A reader can see the thickness of each strand in your vimara – the thicker the strand, the more power – and can determine your ratio and overall strength,” Wesson explained.

Rezkin shook his head and inquired, “If you were seen by a talent reader, why did you ever bother to attempt to become a life mage?”

The journeyman responded, “Oh, I have a decent amount of amber power – enough to become a life mage. Amber power enables a mage to commune and bond with animals and encourages growth and prosperity in plants. The problem is that my amber power is overpowered by the nocent power…ah, the destructive power. Nocent power has a tendency to interfere with the other types, especially when the ratio is very high. My master took me to the reader because he worried that my nocent power was unusually high, which it is.”

“What kind of power do readers use?” Rezkin inquired curiously.

“Oh, it is not a type of power. In fact, it is an extremely rare affinity. A mage must have a very specific ratio of powers in order to be a reader. There are only three known readers in all of Ashai at the moment,” the mage answered.

“So the ratios of powers are just as important as the amount of each power?” Rezkin asked.

“Probably more so. Some ratios are relatively common and some are extremely rare, like that of a reader. The Mage Council has defined the ratios they believe to be ideal for each type of mage. For example, it would not do for a life mage to have one hundred percent amber power. That is not even possible, but if it were, it would not make the life mage more powerful or effective. An ideal life mage ratio is forty-five percent amber, twenty-five percent adamantine, ten percent aquian – the elemental power of water, ten percent crystallis – the elemental power of earth, and ten percent other.

“Between two life mages with the same ratio, the one with the most power, or thickest strands, will be more powerful and effective. However, a very powerful mage with a less efficient ratio could be less effective than a less powerful mage with an ideal ratio.”

“But, you cannot know your ratio unless you are seen by a reader?” Rezkin asked.

“Yes,” Wesson agreed. “Mages usually find their affinities by trial and error since readers are so rare. Those trained at the Mage Academy are typically seen by a reader at least once before their graduation. Sometimes the powers fluctuate or change over time, especially in young mages. Mages like me, who apprenticed outside of the academy, do not always receive a reading.”

“And, is your ratio efficient?” the warrior asked.

“That is the thing with destructive magic,” Wesson said spreading his hands. “The ratio does not matter – only the amount of power – so long as you want to destroy. The ratio is only important if you wish to perform other types of magic, since, as I said, destructive magic interferes with the other types. That is why those who are strong in destructive magic are always referred to as battle mages. It is all we are good for,” the young man said dejectedly. “My overall power is unusually strong. The amount of amber power I have is almost equal to any life mage, but my adamantine is nearly nonexistent. I have a reasonable amount of tropestrian – the elemental power of wind, as well as a small amount of aquian and crystallis. Those are all of the constructive powers. If the total quantity of my constructive power were all I had, I would be on the lower side of average as a constructive mage.

“Those are all constructive powers, though. You are a destructive mage,” Rezkin observed.

Wesson nodded and sighed heavily. “Yes. Those powers do me very little good because they are overshadowed by my nocent power. Nocent refers to destructive power as a whole, which also includes pyris – the elemental power of fire. I have enough nocent power to make about two and a half average nocent mages, and my ratio guarantees destructive affinity. I am ninety percent nocent, about thirty percent of which is pyris.”

“So you are sixty percent general nocent, thirty percent pyris, and ten percent constructive. Your total power is equal to about three average mages?” Rezkin clarified.

“Yes, so you can see why I am so disappointed,” Wesson replied.

The warrior shook his head in awe. “You should not be disappointed at all. It sounds like you are one of the most powerful mages in Ashai.”

The journeyman frowned and said, “Yes, but only if I want to destroy things. If my constructive power was not so strong, I would not be able to perform any constructive magic at all with my ratio.”

“Destruction is not always a bad thing,” Rezkin asserted. “I am certain you can find constructive uses for your destructive power. I have already been impressed with the way you apply your power to the same effect for which others would use constructive power – like the sound shield. Did you design that yourself?”

“No, it is a common battle mage technique that aids in stealth. I have yet to really develop anything new,” Wesson remarked.

“There are other uses for destruction, as well,” the warrior stated. “What if a building collapses with people inside? You can break apart the debris so that rescuers can get to the injured. You could clear landslides or burn away fields infested with fungus or parasites. There are even uses in healing. You can use your power to kill the invaders.”

“Kill the invaders?” the mage asked skeptically.

“Yes, one of my healing instructors explained that sickness is caused when creatures too small to see invade the body and attack. You could use your nocent power to destroy the invaders,” Rezkin explained.

“I…I never thought of that. I could use nocent power to heal sickness. Interesting. Natural healers usually have a difficult time healing illness not related to injury. They repair damage caused by the sickness and encourage the body to fight the illness on its own but are dependent on mundane or alchemical potions to kill the sickness. I may not need any potions. I will have to think about that,” Wesson remarked.

The following day was accompanied by a moderate storm. The rain fell heavily, and the wind blew strongly across the deck and through the sails. The passengers were forced to stay indoors, and the stifling humidity and heat only made them feel that much worse when the ship abruptly rose and fell for hours upon hours. Rezkin’s supply of herbs could not hope to last the entire length of the trip, and he hoped the storm would pass quickly so the sea would calm.

Eventually, Rezkin approached Reaylin and Tieran who were sitting only a few seats from each other in the mess looking miserable. “Everyone is sick,” he said waving a hand around at the sad lot. The two followed his hand as the warrior stated the obvious. “I am running low on herbs. Pretty soon, they will be gone. Reaylin can use her talent to heal everyone who is sick, and then I can save the herbal remedy for just her, since she cannot heal herself,” he said looking pointedly at the young woman.

Reaylin opened her mouth to protest, but at his stern look, clamped it shut. “Yes, my lord,” the young woman replied. Tieran was surprised by the young woman’s sudden compliance and formal reply.

“Tieran, if you would oblige, I could use your help with Pride. He, too, is unwell, and he refuses to settle. If you could convince him to lay down and be calm, he will be less likely to get injured.”

Rezkin’s point was punctuated when everyone had to grab onto the table to prevent themselves from sliding across the floor and crashing into the far wall. Luckily, the table was bolted in place. Heavy ropes had been woven through the backs of the chairs and tied at each end to the walls. The chairs could no longer topple over, but it did not stop people from falling out of them.

“I see your point, Rezkin, but I will warn you that I am not skilled with animals. If you were asking me to do something with a plant, I would be more useful,” Tieran mumbled.

“You are a life mage who is not skilled with animals?” Rezkin asked with surprise.

Tieran shrugged and said, “It has something to do with my power ratio. Plants – great! Animals – not so much. And, pretty much no healing. See? I am a worthless mage, like my father said.”

“Unless there is a drought,” Rezkin interjected.

“Yes, well, there is that,” Tieran admitted.

“Or the forest burns down,” Rezkin added.

Tieran nodded in agreement but said nothing as he rose to his feet, swaying with the motion of the ship and gipping the walls as often as possible.

“Or I am in need of an impromptu bridge across a chasm,” the warrior added as the two headed to the stalls. The conversation paused as they crossed the stormy deck. Once they entered the stalls and were again protected from the rain and wind, Rezkin continued, “Or I need to cross a bog…or build a shelter in the top of a tree…or I am traveling and have nothing to feed my horse.”

“Okay, okay, I am not completely useless,” Tieran conceded. “But I am heir to the dukedom. When am I going to need any of those skills?”

“Perhaps you will need to aid the subjects of your duchy,” Rezkin answered.

“I could,” Tieran said, “but that is what the mages are for. If I do the work myself, how will they earn a living? They depend on commissions from such work.”

“True, but you never know when there will be an emergency. Besides, when does your father really need to use his powers? He is the duke. He could have mages do everything for him. Perhaps simply knowing you could perform a miracle is enough,” Rezkin argued. “I am certain you could at least design an attractive garden for your future wife,” he added. “I hear they appreciate such things. I believe it would be considered a romantic gesture.”

“You are giving me relationship advice, now?” Tieran laughed. “I do not even have an intended, and you are already planning gifts for my wife.”

Rezkin shrugged. “You are of marrying age, even if most men of your status wait a few more years. You may find a woman to bear your heirs soon enough.”

“Now you sound like my father,” Tieran complained. “He has been talking for the past two years about which woman would make a good mother for my heirs. It seems he is unsatisfied with the young ladies from the peerage. I think he is considering a mage. He seems to think a mage would make a better queen should I inherit the throne. Mages are well educated and experienced, in addition to the benefits of replenishing the talent in the bloodline. He was very disappointed with my show of talent, or lack-there-of. Anyway, he says a noble lady will bring little to the table since most of them are flighty and disinterested in politics.”

“What do you think?” Rezkin inquired.

“I-…I do not know. I guess I envy you that, Rez. I rather like the idea of meeting a woman and falling in love. Creating a marriage contract based on mage power and education or influence is just so impersonal.” The young noble frowned and shook his head as he said, “I rather dread my father choosing a bride for me. I do not believe he will take into consideration whether or not I actually like the woman.”

“I would not accept such a situation,” Rezkin remarked.

“No, I suppose you would not. You are determined and independent. How did you choose Frisha, anyway? She seems far below your station, even if she is the general’s heir,” Tieran commented.

Rezkin furrowed his brow and said, “When I met her, I was not even considering marriage contracts. She turned out to be my friend, which was working out well. She is a good friend. She is loyal and honest and courageous for one who has little chance of protecting or supporting herself. After I found out why she was going to Kaibain, I realized that if I did not claim her, I would lose her, a thought that greatly disturbed me. I decided she would make an ideal wife.”

“Why is that?” Tieran asked.

“Aside from the characteristics I already mentioned? She is strong, healthy, and of perfect shape for bearing heirs. Most importantly, I trust her not to poison my food or stab me in my sleep,” the warrior answered truthfully.

“Ha, ha! That is such a concern for you, then?” Tieran chuckled.

“It happens more often than you would think,” Rezkin replied.

“That is disturbing. I understand what you are saying, though. It would be good to be able to fully trust my wife. Father has always kept Mother at a distance. Unlike some Houses, he has never involved her in House business. I do not think he has ever really trusted her, but neither do I think he ever attempted to foster the feeling. I suppose with your…loyalties…trust would be a particularly important commodity.”

“How do you feel about my loyalties, Tieran?” Rezkin asked.

Tieran inhaled and released a heavy breath. “Truthfully, I do not know what to think. A couple of weeks ago, I gave the throne little thought. Actually, I was in complete avoidance of the topic. My friends, if you could call them such, do not care for talk of politics. We were only concerned with finding the next source of entertainment, which, as you know, was not always wholesome. I know Caydean, and I know how he treated Thresson and even me when I visited. I know him more as a man than I do as a king.

“I expect these words never to be passed on, Rezkin. Caydean is not a good man. He has an innate cruelty the likes of which I have never heard tell. It would disturb me were it any other man, but it positively terrifies me in the king. He enjoys witnessing and inflicting suffering upon others. Caydean is like one of the insane that revel in the excitement of setting things aflame. I can imagine a scenario in which Caydean intentionally wreaks havoc on this kingdom just to see it burn. He has no concern for the welfare of the kingdom or for the honor and dignity of his family or the throne.”

Tieran shook his head and sighed as his eyes stared out the doorway into the rain. “I cannot blame you, Rezkin. Honestly, if I knew more of the man you call king, I would probably join him as well,” Tieran finished.

“You would swear fealty to him?” Rezkin asked.

“When I came of age, my father took me to court. I knelt before Caydean and swore fealty to the King of Ashai. The oath did not mention Caydean, specifically. If what you said is true, and this man is the rightful king, then I have already sworn fealty to him. It is a fact I recognize and accept, but I would swear it again if he so desires,” the young lord asserted.

“And your father? Would he support the True King?” Rezkin inquired.

“I do not know. My father is confusing to me. I think he might only because he knows of Caydean’s sadism, but he is also a staunch supporter of the bloodline. As you know, my father’s claim to the throne is through my mother, who was Bordran’s sister; so father is not even of the bloodline. Plus, he is old. He would not claim the throne for himself, but merely to preserve it for me so that I man continue the bloodline.”

The young lord stroked his chin thoughtfully and said, “If I recognize this True King of yours as the rightful king, then my father would have no choice but to recognize him as well. I have already sworn fealty to the king, and I cannot take the throne so long as your True King lives.”

“That is true, if you recognize him as the king,” Rezkin stated in agreement.

“I cannot take the throne so long as my cousin sits upon it, and your king is the only legal way to dethrone Caydean. If I do not support the True King, then I must support Caydean. Either way, I cannot take the throne, even if I wanted it. My choices are the evil that I know or the utter unknown. I trust you, Rezkin. I do not think you would serve someone worse than Caydean. It is not only my moral obligation, it is my duty to my people to recognize the True King,” Tieran argued.

Rezkin nodded in understanding. Tieran made a very good case for his support of Rezkin as king, even if he did not know Rezkin was the man in question. “I can see that you have put much thought into this, Tieran. I think you will make a better duke than you thought you would.”

“I have changed much on this journey,” the young lord agreed. “I found flaws in myself that I did not care to see. The others have had some influence, but I largely credit you, Rezkin. Never have I heard anyone speak so passionately about the noble cause. I came to realize that power without purpose is empty. My life has direction, now. I feel pride in who I am, not just because of the House to which I was born, but because of the responsibility I bear. My father has been training me for years to take on his role, but taxes and trade agreements could not hold my interest. Now, I truly understand why it is so important that I focus on those issues.”

“I am glad to hear it, Tieran,” Rezkin said with sincerity. In only a few weeks, Tieran had gone from being a petty aristocrat to a noble lord. He seemed sincere, but time would tell. There was a chance that Tieran would revert back to his old ways once he returned to Kaibain, although Rezkin thought it unlikely. Tieran had finally become a man.

“Now, what of him,” Rezkin said, pointing at the stallion.

Chapter 15

The final few days to Skutton were more of the same. The sea was a bit calmer with only a few brief showers, but everyone was happier since Reaylin began treating them for seasickness. Tieran had been able to calm Pride enough to keep him from bursting through the stall or breaking a leg, and the crew was more relaxed without the fear of a runaway battle charger looming over them. It was midday when the ship pulled into port, and the docks were a bustle of activity. The sour scent of salt and fish hung heavily in the air, but everyone was overjoyed to be back on land.

“Ugh,” Tam groaned once his feet struck dirt. “I feel like the land is moving beneath me.”

“That be the land sickness. I says ye’ll be gettin’ yer land legs back in no time, don’t ye fret,” a passing crewmember commented.

“Wow, this city is amazing!” Frisha exclaimed.

Skutton Island rose steeply from ocean level to a peak in the center of the landmass. The city of Skutton was built in tiers with the docks and merchant district toward the bottom, and the more affluent homes and shops toward the top of the first rise. Upon the rise sat the city offices and capital building. Further upslope, about halfway between the city limits and the summit, stood the estate of Duke Ytrevius, whose duchy included all of the isles and much of the western peninsula.

Most of the structures were built from white stone capped with grey slate tiles quarried from the other side of the island or from the slopes that had been flattened into the tiers. The effect was stunning. Tall palms and short, brilliant flowering shrubs dotted the landscape. Between buildings and along streets were awnings dyed in bright colors to keep pedestrians dry during the frequent light showers. The streets had been carved into the natural white stone and were sloped, so drainage was never a problem. The city was quite clean when compared with other cities Rezkin had visited.

Several carriages for hire were waiting near the docks to take on passengers and luggage. While everyone unloaded, a number of dockworkers lugged trunks and packs down the pier. Rezkin walked Pride in circles to get him used to the stationary land again and then saddled the beast for the short ride to the inns. Tieran sent word of his arrival to his father’s guard who were stationed in Skutton for the tournament, and his assigned personal guard arrived a short time later. Tieran was to be a personal guest of Duke Ytrevius while attending the tournament. In truth, he was loath to leave the company of his newfound friends, especially since he would have to endure the company of Ytrevius’s five daughters, three of whom were of, or close to, marrying age.

The Coral Cove and Sun Coast Inns were located directly across from one another, and their façades were nearly identical except for the color of the awnings and small signs that hung over the doors from decorative iron rods. The baron and Waylen, along with their guards, had reservations at another inn less than a block away and around the corner. Because of the addition of the mage and striker to their party, Rezkin had to make a few last minute adjustments to the room assignments. At the Coral Cove, the four rooms were assigned to Rezkin, Tam and Wesson; Frisha and Reaylin; Jimson, Millins, and Drascon; and Brandt and Kai. At the Sun Coast, Malcius and Palis shared a room, while Shiela had one to herself with her maid. The four Jebai guards shared the third, which had four beds, but they would not be using it at the same time since they would be taking guard shifts. The servants stayed with others in a room behind the kitchen reserved for such.

The rooms were larger than the rooms at the previous inns in which they stayed and had a number of improvements the others did not. Each room had its own fireplace, which was not necessary during the day; but they were told it could get quite cool at night, particularly during stormy weather. There were also two common privies, one at each end of the hall, so patrons were not required to use chamber pots.

The greatest improvement, in Rezkin’s opinion, was that each room had a screened in bathing chamber with water that poured from pipes into a large copper tub. The pipes led to a massive cistern on the roof that collected rainwater. Two pipes poured into the tub, one of which carried hot water from what the innkeeper called a boiler. The tub had a drain in the bottom, and once the plug was removed, the water flowed out of the tub into pipes that carried the wash water to gullies that ran along the sides of the street all the way to the sea. It was an ingenious design that meant no one had to lug heavy buckets of water up the stairs to fill small basins. Rezkin hoped the design would someday be carried over to the mainland.

The travelers settled into their rooms, and then Frisha immediately wanted to see the city. Rezkin arranged a tour by open carriage. He, Frisha, Tam and Wesson took up the passenger seats while Lieutenant Drascon rode beside the driver as escort. Reaylin said she had some other business to which she needed to attend, and Rezkin pondered if it had something to do with the rebels. Captain Jimson set off to use the Mage Relay to send word to the general of their safe arrival, and Sergeant Millins attempted to get some sleep, since he would be taking the first night shift.

The carriage ride lasted about an hour as it circled the city, going up the hill past the city government buildings and ending in the market district where the companions opted to stop and tour the shops. They ate dinner at a small restaurant near the market square, which served fish and other strange creatures from the sea that they had never before tasted. Tam was not sure what kind of animal a squid was, but he thoroughly enjoyed the soft, white meat. Frisha, however, absolutely did not care for the strange texture. Rezkin ordered a dish called lobster, and when he received the massive red creature on his plate, he decided it must be some sort of sea scorpion. The meat inside was delicious, though, and he wondered if the land scorpions would taste the same. Wesson and Drascon were less adventurous and simply ordered whatever fish was being served. The fish tasted a bit different from the freshwater river fish, but it was still just fish.

When they were finished, the small group walked the few blocks back to their inn. After weeks on the ship with only a couple of all-too-brief stopovers, the travelers were eager to turn in early. Even Rezkin opted to forgo any scouting and intelligence missions for the night. With a week until the tournament, Rezkin had much for which to prepare. At least he would not have to do everything himself now that he had people to serve him.

The following day, Rezkin asked Tam, Wesson and Kai to join him in his room. Frisha was a bit put out that she was excluded from whatever was going on, but she accepted that Rezkin had business to which she was not privy. The woman began to wonder what Tam’s involvement was. She knew Rezkin had employed him to run errands, but she now wondered if Tam was somehow also involved with the business of the True King. She resolved to ask him about it when next she had the chance.

Rezkin turned to his three companions and felt the tingle of mage power as Wesson set his sound ward. “I am going to need your assistance in preparing for the tournament,” the warrior stated to the group. “I will not be competing as Rezkin. I will wear the mask.”

“What? Why?” Kai protested. “You should be known! The people will see you and cheer your name! It is the perfect opportunity to win their hearts.”

Rezkin shook his head and said, “I do not want the wrong people to know my name or recognize me. The strikers are here, Kai, and we both know my questionable relationship with them.”

Kai grumbled beneath his breath and said, “Then what do you plan to do?”

“Wait,” said Wesson. “What do you mean that you will wear the mask? I am not very familiar with sword dueling. There are no masks in mage duels.”

“It was once a tradition for duelers to wear a mask to hide their identities during their duels. It was largely symbolic since there were far fewer people, and most everyone knew the talented swordsmen. It was meant to demonstrate that the duelists were competing for respect and love of the art and not for fame and glory. Today, it is still an option, but it is largely employed only in the lower tiers,” Rezkin explained.

“Most duelists wear them for the opposite reason, now,” Kai interjected.

Rezkin nodded in agreement and said, “The less experienced or more self-conscious wear the mask to hide their identities in case they embarrass themselves. If they perform well, then they dramatically unveil themselves at the end of their last duel.”

“And, you wish to do this to hide your identity from the strikers?” Wesson asked. He did not know about Rezkin’s relationship with the strikers, but he had a feeling it had to do with the business of the True King. “Do you not have to register your name?”

The warrior shook his head. “No, if one chooses to wear the mask, he may register under an assumed name. It can be anything, but it rarely actually represents a given a name.”

“Ideally, it should represent the duelist in some way, but it is usually something frightening, bold, or glorifying like Dark Avenger or Lightbringer,” Kai grumbled. “Sometimes the name sticks long after the tournament, and a swordsman will carry it the rest of his life.”

“What will your name be, Rez?” Tam asked curiously.

Rezkin frowned and replied, “I have not yet considered the issue.”

“Well, it has to be good if you are to be known by it the rest of your life,” Tam remarked.

“You could go by The Rez, which is ominous and frightening, but it might be a little too obvious for your tastes,” Kai mentioned.

“How about Warlord?” asked Wesson. “It sounds intimidating to me, and you are bringing on a war.”

Rezkin scowled at the reminder, and Kai grunted before saying, “It has already been taken. A mediocre fighter went by the name a couple of years ago. We would not want people to get confused. How about Blood Wraith?” the striker suggested with a grin.

The warrior frowned and shook his head. “It sounds grotesque. It is hardly a name you would want associated with your king.”

Kai’s face fell. “I see your point.”

Tam perked up with a broad smile, “I’ve got it! Dark Tidings.”

Rezkin cocked his head and looked at his friend curiously. Tam continued with an explanation. “You know, it is another reference to the Rez, which is your namesake. Plus, it’s symbolic – a warning. You are the king and you bring dark tidings to the usurper. The Rez is free and coming for his target – like the old bard’s tale says, ‘…Cometh nigh the Rez.’ Everyone knows what happens when the Rez appears. Whether you believe he was real or not, he is the only man in the entire kingdom that everyone fears – except the king; and Caydean is no longer exempt from your wrath, since you do not serve him. In the tales, the Rez holds everyone accountable to the king. Now, you are going to hold the king accountable.” Rezkin nodded slowly and glanced over at the other two.

Kai grinned broadly and said, “I like it.”

Wesson shivered and said, “It is terrifying.”

“You have not even heard my plan for a disguise,” Rezkin said with a wolfish grin.

The warrior sent his vassals and employee to obtain supplies for his disguise and then he set out to purchase a new sword. He had little time since Frisha had expressed a desire to return to the market to purchase a few items, and he did not feel comfortable with her being in the crowd with only two soldiers as escort.

Rezkin wove his way through the city until he found the particular blacksmith’s shop he had been seeking. It was smaller than most and completely uninspiring from the outside. The warrior stepped through the door into a small room whose walls were lined with mediocre weapons little better than the standard issue soldier’s swords. A long cord ran through a hole in the wall and hung down over the counter. Rezkin gave the cord a few firm pulls and then waited. After a few moments, a squat, older man in his fifties came bustling through the door behind the counter. His shirt was damp with sweat, and he still wore a scarred leather apron.

“What can I do fer ya?” the man barked.

“I seek a sword,” Rezkin replied.

The smith waved a hand around the room and said, “Well, there be an assortment fer ya ta pick from.” The man’s accent was a mixture of salty seadog and mountain brogue.

Rezkin shook his head and said, “I want a real sword.”

The old man grumbled as he stroked his beard and looked the warrior up and down. “What do ya need a sword fer? Ye already got two,” he said with scorn.

“I cannot wield these in the tournament,” Rezkin explained. “They are enchanted.”

“Ah, I see,” the smith said with skeptical but interested eyes as he took in the unimpressive hilts. “Well, demand be high right now with the tournament approachin’ and metal be gettin’ scarce fer those of us smiths not contracted with the king. What do ye be lookin’ fer?”

Rezkin shrugged and said, “What do you have available for purchase in the next few days?”

“Do ye be wanted a one-handed or two-handed sword?” the smith asked.

“It does not matter,” Rezkin replied. “It simply needs to be masterful,” he said emphasizing the word.

The smith raised a brow and crossed his arms that were the size of tree trunks. “And ye think ye can be gettin’ somethin’ like that ‘ere?”

“I doubt a Master Swordsmith has suddenly forgotten how to forge a blade,” Rezkin remarked.

The smith rubbed his beard thoughtfully and then ducked from the room, claiming he would return in a moment. As promised, he returned a short time later carrying a two-handed longsword. He handed the blade to Rezkin who took it and examined the edge, length, form, and weight, which was almost perfect – almost.

He held the sword out to the smith and said, “This is excellent work, but it is not a master blade.”

“Ye don’t even know what kind of sword ye be wantin’. What do ye care if it be a master blade?” the smith scoffed.

Rezkin held the man in his crystal gaze and said, “Do not mistake my lack of preference for inexperience. I am capable of wielding any blade you have with mastery.”

The smith barked a boisterous laugh and said, “That be a bold claim, young man, I’ll give ye that. I’ll not be sellin’ any master blades to no unskilled, arrogant lordling. If ye want one o’ me blades, ye’ll have ta prove yerself.”

“I do not have time for your games, Smith,” Rezkin gritted out in frustration. “What do you want?”

“Ye show me what yer enchanted blades can do. If I’m satisfied, I’ll sell ye a sword,” the smith challenged.

“No, I will not draw these here. Choose something else,” Rezkin asserted while impressing his will.

The smith narrowed his eyes but relented without argument. “Fine. Ye want a random blade, then show me what ye can do with…say…” looking around, “that one,” he said nodding to a very large great sword on the wall.

Rezkin immediately strode over to the wall and hefted the massive blade with ease. “Where shall I demonstrate?”

The old smith led Rezkin to a small yard behind the forge that was surrounded by an eight-foot stone wall. A lone wooden gate of the same height and wide enough for a wagon stood to one side. The ground was the same white stone that comprised the roads and buildings throughout the city. Several barrels used for collecting rainwater sat beneath the eaves, and a couple of barrels of charcoal were aligned next to two large piles of coal and wood on the side opposite the gate. In the center of the yard was a raised well and several stacked buckets.

The warrior turned to the smith and asked, “What do you wish to see? What will satisfy your requirements?”

“Prove ta me yer worthy o’ carryin’ a master blade, and I’ll see if maybe I can find one,” the smith said as if he did not believe the young man could perform to his expectations.

Deciding he would rather not soil his clothes, Rezkin removed his shirt and laid it over the stack of buckets. He took the great sword in both hands and swung it a few times to get a feel for the size and weight. The great sword was designed for inflicting maximum damage through raw power and momentum, which was advantageous against cavalry and well-armed foes. The disadvantage was that it required room to employ with effect and could become nearly impossible to wield in dense battle. Also, it was potentially useless against a much faster opponent with lighter blades like Rezkin. Luckily, most people moved out of the way of a man wielding a great sword. It was when the man began to tire that opportunists rushed to take advantage.

The warrior whipped the sword around in a series of advanced forms, proving he was no idiot with a blade. What truly impressed the smith was the speed with which the young man wielded the heavy great sword. His strength was enough to rival any smith, and his physique spoke of long hours spent in practice.

The old smith grunted in approval and said, “Alright, ye done proved yerself. Can I assume ye can actually fight with those blades?” he asked, indicating the two swords at Rezkin’s hips.

The warrior handed the sword to the smith and strode over to retrieve a bucket of water from the well. As he walked, he said, “I can.”

“Well, I am sure ye know the tournament be a single-weapon competition – unless ye be joinin’ the melee,” the man remarked.

Rezkin drank his fill and then leaned over and dumped the remainder of the water over his upper body to wash away the sweat.

“The melee?” he inquired.

The smith ducked into the forge and came back with a drying cloth. Handing it to the warrior, he said, “It be new this year. Ye can use whatever non-range weapons ye want, and it ain’t got all the duelin’ rules. They be holdin’ the matches in the off times from the others in case people be wantin’ to compete in both.”

“Now, that sounds interesting,” Rezkin said thoughtfully. He still had no desire to compete, since he felt he had no need to prove himself; but if he wanted to impress and gain support for his cause, then the melee would be a good bet. He wondered if winning the melee alone would grant him the same opportunity as the regular duel to get close to the strikers.

“Apparently, organizers be wantin’ ta make things more interestin’,” the smith remarked. “They said it’d encourage fighters from other lands ta compete, since not all of ‘em use swords.”

“And the prize?” Rezkin asked.

The smith grunted and said, “Two thousand gold and yer name on a plaque in the tournament hall in Kaibain. It’s a bit low if ye ask me. Ye get an ax in the brain and the healers ain’t fixin’ that. The main dueling competition winner takes five thousand gold, a fancy trophy of some mage craft, and a plot o’ land in the province o’ yer choosin’. That only be good fer first time winners who are citizens o’ Ashai. Foreigners and repeat winners just get more gold, I think. Rumor has it the duel winner, or the highest rankin’ competitor from Ashai, also gets a chance ta join the strikers, but it ain’t never been confirmed. Ye prob’ly know all that, eh? Come on, then. I’ll show ye what I got.”

Rezkin followed the smith into the forge and then into another room to the side. From the street, the warrior would have assumed this space belonged to the adjacent business. It was a clever ploy to throw off would-be thieves. Most of the space was filled with scabbards and materials for making and wrapping hilts. Rezkin did not see any of the finer metals and gems, but he was certain the man had them in stock. The smith drew a curtain aside to show a wall covered in a dozen pristine blades of various shapes and sizes. The hilts were plain, unadorned, and unwrapped.

Noting the warrior’s perusal, the smith said, “I make the hilts custom to the buyer’s pref’rence once a choice been made. One o’ my apprentices be the son o’ a jeweler. I admit he be better at settin’ the gems. Unless ye be competin’ in the rapier division, regular tournament rules says ye be usin’ a longsword or shortsword, but ye’d not be doin’ yerself any favors with the latter. No point in reducin’ yer reach if it ain’t needed. It’s up to ye if it be one-handed, two-handed or hand-and-a-half grip. I’ve got some o’ each.”

The warrior’s eyes roved over the assortment of master blades. He paid particular attention to those that could be classified as a bastard sword or longsword. The terms were often used interchangeably, although Rezkin usually thought of a bastard sword as being of the slightly shorter variety, somewhere between a shortsword and longsword. Although commonly used among swordsmen, polite society often eschewed the term bastard sword, since it apparently offended their delicate sensibilities.

In his typical fighting style, the hand-and-a-half swords were most convenient since he was usually fighting multiple opponents and could wield the blade one-handed. He often used his open hand for other purposes such as throwing daggers or handling another weapon or shield. With Rezkin’s height and arm span, he did not really need the extra length typical of a two-handed longsword. Since he already had a longsword, he might have preferred to purchase a great sword to add to his inventory, but it would not be useful for the tournament.

The warrior finally selected a hand-and-a-half longsword that was slightly longer than Kingslayer, which some might have preferred to call a bastard sword. He swung the blade around in the open space a few times and admired its perfection. Something just did not feel right, though. This was not the blade of a king. Of course, his official blades would be the Sheyalins, but any sword the king wielded had to be extraordinary, especially in front of the spectators at the king’s tournament. If he was to accept his fate and pursue the crown, he had to impress.

The old smith watched the warrior curiously as the young man evaluated some of his best work. Rezkin replaced the sword and stepped back to lean against the opposite wall as he considered the assortment from a distance. The decision was going to be harder than he thought. He would never be able to find a blade to match the enchanted Sheyalins, but he needed to find the best mundane blade he could before the tournament.

The warrior’s eyes caught on a glint of metal in a dark recess in the side wall. He grinned when he spied there on the shelf a set of su’carai. He strode over, picked up the weapons, and looked at the Master Swordsmith questioningly.

“Yes, well, I ain’t figured out what ta do with those, yet. They were a trade, ye see. Some sailor got ‘em from who knows where and wanted a sword. I know there be a market for those kinds of things, though,” the smith replied to the unspoken question.

“You know what these are?” Rezkin asked as he brought them into the light and examined the quality. These were surprisingly fine weapons, every bit as good as those in the general’s collection.

“They be called su’carai, and they be from some eastern land whose name I don’t know. I don’t know anyone who can use the things, either, if yer wantin’ ta learn,” he remarked.

Rezkin finished his perusal of the weapons and said, “That will not be necessary. How much are you asking for them?”

The smith scratched his chin and said, “I can’t say as I know the market fer ‘em. The sword I traded ‘em fer was worth twenty gold, and I’d not mind a bit o’ profit. I don’t like the hagglin’ so I’ll give ‘em to ya fer a flat price of twenty-five.”

Rezkin lifted a brow and said, “The eastern land’s name is Zhent’hai, and I would say you unknowingly robbed the sailor. Then, again, he most likely robbed the man from whom he claimed these. In Zehnt’hai, blades of this quality could fetch between one and two hundred gold, depending on the maker.”

The smith’s eyes widened and his lips formed an ‘o’ as he exclaimed, “That be as much as me master blades!”

The warrior nodded and said, “The market for such things is fickle. You could get more from a collector because they are rare imports or you could get less because there is no demand for such weapons. These need to be sharpened and polished, and they need new grips. I do not believe either of us would recognize the maker’s mark, so we cannot assume the higher value. Since I am not a thief, I will give you seventy-five gold, which is fifty more than you were asking.”

The old smith’s jaw dropped. “You would part with an extra fifty gold for what? Honor?”

Rezkin nodded and said, “That and we have not yet made a deal on a sword. I expect fair turn.”

“The way you be scrutinizin’ me swords, it don’t be lookin’ like yer mind is on winnin’ a tournament. What do you be plannin’ ta use it fer?” the smith asked curiously.

Impressed by the man’s observation, Rezkin turned icy blue eyes on the burly smith and said, “I intend to save a kingdom.”

The older man’s brows rose in surprise or disbelief as he reassessed the strange young man. Scratching his beard, the smith said, “If ye like unusual things like those su’carai, I might ‘ave a blade in which ye’d be interested. Just finished it yesterday, I did. I ain’t made a hilt fer it, yet. I’ve been tryin’ fer years to discover the secret o’ the Sheyalin ta no avail. I was tryin’ out a new technique and blend. Made somethin’ unique, I did. Not sure I’d want ta do it again, though. It was a lot o’ blasted hard work ta get it right. The sharpenin’ and polishin’ was more work than it was worth.”

The warrior eyed the smith skeptically. “You do not speak highly of the blade. Why would I be interested?”

“Oh, no, don’t be mistakin’ me,” the smith said shaking his head. “The blade be perfect, beautiful even. It was makin’ it that was such a trouble. The metal be so hard it was damn near impossible ta sharpen and polish. Took two or three times as long as a normal blade, but it be sharper than the others. At first, I thought it might be too hard. I worried it’d be brittle and break, but I put it through rigorous testin’ and ain’t been able ta break it yet.”

“What is so unusual about it?” Rezkin inquired.

“Let me just show ye,” the smith said as he stepped through the doorway. A moment later he returned with the sword bundled in linen, which he placed on a side table and methodically unwrapped. There sat the strangest sword Rezkin had ever seen.

“It is black,” Rezkin remarked. The sword seemed to absorb the light into an endless void. The surface had been polished to appear as glass but little light was reflected. To look at the surface was to look through water into an empty cavern the sun never reached. It was the night sky with no moon and stars.

“Yes, it is,” the smith stated. “Not much demand for a black sword, though, beautiful as it is. People want shiny and silver, preferably with blue swirls,” the smith chuckled. “This blade is more than black, though. Hold it to the light,” he insisted. When held in the light, a field of jagged green lines running along the blade in a lightning pattern blazed into view.

“How?” Rezkin asked in amazement.

“It be pattern welded, fer sure, but that wouldn’t be so impressive as it be done on the more fanciful blades often enough. Never they be done in black and green, though, and never in a pattern like that. Ye see, there be this mage. He was messin’ ‘round with his magic and made a strange metal by accident. Thing is, the metal wasn’t black. It was green – a dark forest green. He had no use fer the stuff so he asked me if I wanted it. There wasn’t much, little more than a handful, but I thought it might be interestin’ ta see what I could do with it. Problem was, the stuff wouldn’t shape, so I started mixin’ it with me iron. When I came out with that, I asked the mage if he could make more o’ the stuff. He tried but couldn’t figure out how he did it, so it’s likely that’ll be the only one. After the trouble with the sharpenin’ and polishin’, I decided I prob’ly don’t want no more, anyway.”

The black sword was much longer than his Sheyalin longsword and a bit wider, too. It had a diamond-shaped cross-section the entire length, stopping at the tang. Rezkin gripped the bare tang and lifted the blade. It was much lighter than a blade of this length and width should have been. By its length, it should have been a two-handed blade without a doubt, but because it was so light and balanced, he could easily wield the sword one-handed if need be.

It was unique and would probably be the only one of its kind ever. It was dark and imposing – the kind of sword Dark Tidings would wield. This was a king’s blade. This sword would definitely catch people’s attention and make him stand out, although what he had planned for a disguise was sure to do that already.

“I will take it,” Rezkin said.

“But we ain’t even discussed a price,” the smith protested in surprise.

“It will be fair. How long to finish the hilt?” Rezkin asked.

“Depends on what ye want. What did ye have in mind?” the man asked.

“Hmm, it should be practical, for an experienced fighter, but fit for a king,” Rezkin said. “Make it imposing and deadly, a vengeful warrior. Imagine…something carried by the Rez.”

The smith nodded agreement. “I can see it. Anythin’ less wouldn’t do this blade justice.”

“How long?” Rezkin asked again.

“I assume ye’ll want it rushed so ye can practice with it ‘afore the tournament. I have some crossguards and pommels I can adjust fer the weight and style. I’ll pull me apprentice off his other work fer a bit. The scabbard‘ll be more difficult. I ain’t got one ta fit. It’ll have ta be made, and I don’t do that work meself. Give me three days, and I’ll see what I can do,” the smith replied. “I make no guarantees on the scabbard. I’ll, uh, see ‘bout getting’ those su’carai fixed up, too. I’ll not be sellin’ inferior quality products.”

“Thank you, Master Keskian. I will return three days hence,” Rezkin stated as he placed the black blade back on the pile of linen.

Chapter 16

By the time Rezkin returned to the inn, Frisha was pacing irritably.

“Where have you been?” she snapped. “You said we were going to the market. I’ve been waiting for over an hour!”

Rezkin bowed politely and said, “I apologize, Frisha. My business took longer than anticipated. We may head to the market, now, if you like. Perhaps I can buy you one of those sweet rolls you liked so much last night to make up for my tardiness?”

Frisha huffed. “If you keep buying me sweet rolls, I won’t fit into any of the dresses,” she said sternly and then broke into a teasing smile.

“I do not see why you need a dress, anyway. What you are wearing now is more practical,” Rezkin remarked, eying her tunic and breeches.

“These are traveling clothes, Rezkin. I cannot go about the city dressed in such a way with all these nobles looking at me. You know I am supposed to be fostering their acceptance. If they see me like this, they will only ever see an uncouth commoner,” Frisha argued. “You wear those ridiculous doublets in the heat of summer when you are trying to impress.”

“I recognize and accept your reasoning, but I still think it is an absurd practice,” Rezkin remarked as they left the inn and strolled up the street to the market.

Frisha giggled. “You think wearing a dress is an absurd practice?”

“Of course. What possible use could you have for a dozen layers of floor length fabric piled about your hips?” the warrior asked.

“I think it is supposed to accentuate the female figure, Rez. Haven’t you noticed?” she asked with a sly grin and flutter of her eyes.

“Accentuate it? It covers over everything,” he said as he subtly waved toward a couple of women passing on the opposite side of the street. “Everything below the waist is a complete mystery. In what you are wearing now, I can see that you are perfectly proportioned, and your hips are ideally suited for childbearing.”

“Rezkin! I cannot believe you would say such things to me,” Frisha exclaimed with a furious blush.

“I said nothing that is untrue,” Rezkin replied curiously. “Does it offend you that I recognize the appeal of your figure?”

Frisha pressed a cool palm to her heated face as she said, “Well, no, but I don’t think it is really appropriate to voice such observations.”

“I apologize if I have offended you, Frisha. It was not my intent,” Rezkin replied.

“No, you didn’t offend me. I mean, I’m glad that you approve of my…form,” she said with a blush. “I-…I guess I do not mind hearing such words from you, but I would not care for others to make the same observations.”

Rezkin nodded and said, “Perhaps that is why women insist on covering themselves, then? They are not accentuating their attributes. They are hiding them.” He cocked his head curiously and said, “But, then why do they accentuate their breasts so obviously when it would be equally inappropriate to comment on them?”

Frisha’s eyes darted to the man beside her. She had not thought to hear Rezkin speaking of women’s breasts. “I suppose some things are supposed to observed and appreciated silently.”

Frisha had traveled lightly and did not bring any dresses to wear once she arrived. Her uncle gave her a note to allow her to draw funds from his account at the bank, so she did not have to worry about the money. After visiting a couple of dress shops, Frisha purchased only one dress that she could wear immediately. The others she liked needed alterations, and she would have to pick them up over the next few days. She used the dressmaker’s fitting room to change into the champaign colored frock. It was made of light silk over layers of airy linen, which was much appreciated in the warm, tropical climate.

Just as they were approaching a wig shop, Rezkin stopped the young woman and pulled her behind an awning. “Frisha, if you would not mind, I could use your assistance.”

“Of course, Rez. What do you need?” Frisha asked in surprise.

“I need you to acquire something for me, and I need you to play a role so as not to encourage suspicion,” he replied. Frisha curiously nodded acceptance, and the warrior continued, “There is a wig shop just ahead. I would like for you to go in and explain to the shopkeeper that you are a lady in waiting for a noblewoman who prefers not to be named. Say that the lady desires to purchase some new wigs and would like as many samples of long locks as they can provide.”

Frisha frowned and said, “You want to buy wigs?”

Rezkin shook his head and said, “No, I only want the samples. As many different colors of long hair as they have.”

“Ooookay. I think that is the strangest request anyone has made of me,” Frisha muttered.

“You will understand eventually. Can you do this for me?” Rezkin asked.

“Yes, it does not seem so difficult,” Frisha said with a sigh.

The young woman hurried into the shop and did as Rezkin requested. The shopkeeper apparently felt that Frisha’s request was not only reasonable, but she was overjoyed at the prospect of receiving the unnamed lady’s business. For a moment, Frisha actually felt bad that she would not be returning to purchase any wigs on behalf of her mysterious mistress. It took a while, but eventually Frisha returned with a linen bundle filled with every color of hair the shop had to offer, which was significant since the city was the largest trade city in the northwestern Souelian Sea. Rezkin praised her efforts, although she wished he would simply tell her why he wanted the hair.

Over the next few days, Rezkin scoured the city for as much information on the strikers and Farson as he could obtain. He found nothing regarding the latter but was compiling a list of the strikers who were currently in the city. Kai was uncertain of his own standing, since he had disappeared from Caydean’s service earlier in the year, so he was keeping a low profile. With the striker’s assistance, Rezkin was able to identify several of those who were part of Caydean’s special group.

The young warrior also spent a good amount of time investigating the city’s two major thieves’ guilds, creatively named the Ghouls and the Stalkers. Whether due to overconfidence or wishful thinking, the general consensus among them was that The Raven would not cross the open waters simply to take over their business. Little good it did them when Rezkin descended on them during the night.

The Raven’s first target was the Ghouls. They were known to be a ruthless, rowdy bunch similar to the Diamond Claws except with even less respect for human life. Many of them were ex-pirates or the bastard offspring of sailors who only cared to enjoy the warmth of a companion while in port and then disappeared without a care for the consequences.

The Ghouls did not fall willingly or easily. They rose against him with blood in their eyes, and the young warrior was forced to slaughter all that inhabited the guildhouse at the time. He thought the thieves should have recognized the futility of their defiance after the first dozen fell, but still they protested, and still he killed them. Most of the thieves bore purple-black ink within their skin or were under the influence of an assortment of other drugs. These were not a sophisticated lot but merely brutish opportunists and murderers. Of course, most of the members were not in the guildhouse at the time. Only those in the upper tier of the hierarchy could afford to sit idly while the lower class slaved away in the streets risking their lives, or at the very least, the loss of an appendage.

The Raven stalked through the carnage that was once a thriving hive of thieves. Blood dripped from tables, crates, and even the walls, and he was careful to avoid the worst of it. A horrified gasp emanated from the open doorway, and he caught a flicker of movement as someone rushed away from the scene. Rezkin ran after the man, a predator hunting his prey. He eventually caught up with the fleeing felon a few blocks away in an alley between two darkened buildings. The man was cowering behind a pile of debris, his eyes darting in all directions as he attempted to catch his breath. Rezkin could easily have killed the man with a thrown dagger through the throat, but this man had not been present for the rejection of his authority. He would at least give the man a chance to make the right decision.

The dark wraith descended from the sky landing right in front of the cowering thief. The man choked on a startled shout and bounded to his feet. Like a hare caught in a trap, he darted to one side and then the other, but there was nowhere for him to run.

“Wait! Please, I’m not yer enemy!” the man begged.

“Your guild has forsaken my claim,” The Raven replied.

“That wasn’t me! I mean, I’m not them. I didn’t get no say!” he pleaded as he held empty hands in front of him in a pleading gesture.

“You know who I am?” Rezkin asked.

The man nodded furiously and replied, “Aye, only one man can do what ye did besides the Rez, I guess, if he be real. Ye be The Raven, no?”

Rezkin inclined his head. “I am.”

“Please, just listen, Master Raven. I already made me decision ta serve ye. I did! L-look,” he said as he tugged at his collar. Just below the man’s collarbone was a black tattoo of a raven. “I knew ye’d be comin’. I didn’t believe ‘em when they said ye wouldn’t. I even told ‘em they better not fight. Ye took the Black Hall, ye did, and ain’t none of us can fight like assassins.”

“You defied your leaders?” The Raven asked.

“They weren’t as smart as they thought they be, and now they be dead. I knew ye’d come and that ye’d win. I got the tattoo ta show my loyalty, and I ain’t the only one. There be others is loyal to ye. Ain’t no need ta kill as all!”

“Take me to these others,” The Raven commanded.

The shaky man ducked his head and skittered around The Raven. He scurried down several more alleys, fully aware that he was being pursued by possibly the deadliest man in Ashai. He ducked into a derelict structure that could hardly be called a shelter.

“What ye doin’ here, Pratt?” asked a gruff voice.

“I-…”

“Yer breathin’ mighty heavy. I told ye not ta come ‘ere if yer bein’ pursued!” the same man growled.

“But…”

“Now, get ye outta ‘ere afore ye bring whoever it be down on our heads,” the voice commanded.

Rezkin stepped into the doorway, a dark silhouette blocking out a moonlit night. Three pairs of startled eyes stared for only a moment before a flurry of movement ensued. Weapons were drawn, blades flashed in the silver light, and threats of death fell from quivering lips. The hapless guide jumped forward between Rezkin and the other thieves.

“Wait, wait! It’s him!” he shouted. Pratt’s voice fell to a forced whisper as he said, “It’s The Raven!” The men froze in their tracks. The Raven had not moved during the frantic scramble, and his stoic confidence was more disturbing than if he had simply attacked.

“The others be dead. At the guildhouse. All of ‘em. They all be dead! But, I-I told ‘im we be loyal to ‘im, ye see. Show ‘im,” the guide thief prodded.

The two younger men darted glances between the guide and the man he claimed was The Raven. They dropped their weapons and then tugged anxiously at their tunics. Both men wore the same raven symbol beneath their collarbones. The third man, older than the others, scowled but dropped his dagger on the table next to him.

“I ain’t got no tattoo,” he grumbled. “I didn’t believe ye be comin’ ‘ere. But I’ll get one, ye be sure. Now as I sees ye here, I’ll be loyal to ye. Don’t ye be doubtin’ that.” His voice was firm but held a slight waver of fear.

“See that you do or the next time we meet will not be so pleasant,” The Raven said before he disappeared into the darkness.

The encounter was fortuitous for the young warrior. He already had at least three loyalists upon arrival. They would spread word of the encounter, and the word of a former non-believer, who looked to be a man who did not change his mind easily, would go further in convincing others of the veracity of the thieves’ claims. Rezkin hoped that after seeing the slaughter at the guildhouse, the others would fall in line with ease.

The warrior returned to the guildhouse to retrieve an item that he hoped would help him gain control over the other Skutton thieves’ guild, the Stalkers. He made his way to the other side of the city where the warren lay and let himself into the guildmaster’s personal quarters. The man was not present, which is how Rezkin intended it. Upon the desk, he plunked down the severed head of the Ghoul’s Guildmaster with the fresh tattoo of a raven upon his brow. Beside the head, he left a note with instructions for the guild’s operation. Rezkin would know within days if the guild succumbed to his whims.

Chapter 17

On the third day, Tieran sent word that he would be coming to make good on his promise to take Frisha to purchase a dress. This worked out in Rezkin’s favor, since he needed to return to the swordsmith. Pride was restless, and Rezkin had to carry a significant amount of gold, so he saddled the massive stallion and rode to the smithy. Afterward, he would ride out of the city and give the stallion the opportunity to run before finding a secluded place to experiment with his new sword, assuming it was ready, as the smith had indicated.

“So, you’ve returned. After our last visit, I started ta wonder. Come! I think ye’ll be pleased,” the smith said proudly.

As they passed through the shop, Rezkin asked, “Were you able to get the scabbard?”

“I did! A friend o’ mine does most o’ me scabbard work, and when I told him o’ the unique project and the fact that I ‘ad a buyer in a hurry, he was eager ta pick it up. A fine job he did, I say,” the smith remarked as they entered the private display room.

The sword and scabbard were laid out on the table resting on a wool mat. The sword was truly unique and impressive. The steel crossguard was polished to a silvery shine across the top, but the sides were blackened and inlaid with gold scrollwork. The grip was wrapped with twisted black, silver and gold wire braided into an intricate pattern. The pommel was a thick silver disk with a gold ring around the circumference of each side. Centered on each side of the disk was a round, deep green emerald the size of Rezkin’s thumb.

The scabbard was made of blackened steel and lined with soft, black, oiled fur. It was shorter than the sword, and would leave a large portion of the blade exposed; but the design was necessary if Rezkin was to draw the long blade from his back. A silver locket and chape with gold scrollwork resided at either end. A ring of emeralds, each the size of his pinky nail, circled the locket. The design was sophisticated and ornate, but not overly gaudy. Rezkin was pleased.

“Master Keskian, you have surpassed my expectations. Shall we see how it performs?” asked the warrior.

The smith grinned and said, “I thought ye’d never ask.”

The warrior took the sword into the small yard and danced an intricate series of forms. The blade cut through the air with ease, and Rezkin felt completely comfortable with it after only a short time. The swordsmith was pleased to see his most unique creation go to a man who not only truly appreciated his work but was worthy of wielding such a blade.

When Rezkin was finished, he bowed to the swordsmith and said, “This is truly a magnificent sword, Master Swordsmith. I am honored to wield it. It may not be a Sheyalin, but if its strength and durability are as you say, it may rival their value.”

“I appreciate ye sayin’ so, me lord, but I can’t say since in all my years as a smith I’ve only ever seen a Sheyalin twice. Even then I didn’t get much of a chance to examin’ ‘em,” the smith replied.

“You say you have had trouble acquiring your materials?” Rezkin asked in an abrupt change of subject. “I cannot imagine you are content with that turn of events.”

“There be nothin’ content about it. When a Master Swordsmith can’t be gettin’ iron, there be a problem,” the smith grumbled.

Rezkin eyed the blade in his hand as he asked, “And what do you think is the cause of the problem?”

The smith stiffened and glanced between the warrior and the blade uncomfortably. Rezkin met his gaze as he waited for an answer. “Well, it not be me place ta be makin’ conjectures ‘bout such things.”

“Whose place it is to make such conjectures?” Rezkin inquired.

“Well, better men than me, I s’pose,” the smith answered warily.

“You are a Master Swordsmith of renown. You have made a sword fit for a king, a blade to rival the Sheyalin. You do not think you are worthy of pondering the source of an iron shortage?” the warrior asked.

“Not when I could hang for doing so,” the smith replied.

Rezkin nodded and said, “Then you have come to some conclusion. You are just too wary to voice the opinion, and rightfully so.” Rezkin sheathed the blade and strode over to the smith. “I will wear the mask in the tournament, but I have no doubt you will recognize me should you choose to attend. I would prefer you keep any knowledge of my identity to yourself.”

The smith frowned. “That should not be difficult since ye have not given me yer name.”

The warrior smiled and said, “This blade will bring you fame, I promise that. My reputation may not be one with which you wish to be associated, however. People will ask after the man who forged this unique blade. Dare I answer?”

“What kind o’ reputation do ye intend to foster?” the smith asked, stiffening at the thought.

“I told you, Master Keskian. I intend to save a kingdom,” Rezkin answered.

Realization dawned in the smith’s eyes, and a small spark lit within. “I don’t know what ye be plannin’, but if it be aimin’ ta fix the problem, then ye’ll have whatever support I can give. I’d just assume ye be leavin’ me name out of it fer now, but there be no tellin’ what knowledge o’ that sword has already gotten ‘round. Can’t be blamin’ the sword maker fer the bearer’s actions, can they?”

Rezkin rubbed his chin and said, “There are some who might not agree with you, Master Keskian. If you do run into trouble, just tell them the purchaser wore a mask. If your problems cannot be resolved or if you decide to leave Skutton, come find me.”

The smith scoffed, “Bah, how would I be findin’ ye if I don’t even know yer name?”

Rezkin cocked his head and said, “That may or may not be a problem by the end of tournament. You will understand my meaning by then. Regardless, if I hear word that you are looking for me, I will come to you.”

After the exchange of funds, Rezkin wrapped both the sword and the su’carai in a bolt of linen provided by the swordsmith. The su’carai had been sharpened, polished and rewrapped with something the smith called ray skin. The warrior could not imagine what kind of creature had such skin, but he appreciated the bumpy texture that provided a firm grip but was not so rough as to interfere with handling of the blades.

The warrior plodded out of the city upon his mighty steed. The city had no walls, so passing in and out simply meant riding beyond the limit of buildings. The duke was strict about building limits, which prevented the city from spreading beyond its designated borders, so beyond the city’s perimeter stood only a smattering of farms and homes for herders of sheep and goats. The further from shore he rode, the higher he went and the denser the trees grew. Within half a mark, he was riding through forest. A fast pace and the steep slope provided the battle charger with much needed exercise. Rezkin rode for some time before turning back toward the city. Before leaving the forest, though, he found a small clearing near a stream with only a few inches of water to practice with his new sword and su’carai.

A lifetime of conditioning and training with every manner of weapon left his body and mind honed and ready to fight at any time. Leaving the horse to drink and graze, the warrior removed his shirt and began working through his two-handed sword forms. He tested the black blade’s edge and strength against a couple of tree trunks. When he swung it at the fist-sized trunk of a sapling, the blade nearly cleaved completely through to the other side. The warrior was more than satisfied with the performance, but he would still need to test it against another blade and skilled user. He intended to employ Kai for the experiment.

Rezkin combined his su’carai practice with the acrobatics of the Jahartan SenGoka for a dizzying and awesome effect. As he flipped, twisted, and bounded off trees, the curved blades whirred around in a pulsating cadence stopping abruptly each time he simulated a strike. The spinning of the blades had its uses, and it was not only for impressing an audience or intimidating a foe. When doing so, the su’carai were easily capable of deflecting projected weapons such as arrows and throwing knives and making small slices in the opponent. Any stronger contact meant to inflict considerable damage or actual contact with an opponent’s weapon meant the wielder had to abruptly stop the spinning motion and grip the handles firmly. If done properly, though, an expert wielder could transfer the force of the spinning motion into the forward momentum of the strike, effectively making it stronger than it would have been otherwise.

With only a few hours until sundown, Rezkin rinsed in the stream and headed back to the inn. When he arrived, Frisha bounded up to him from her seat in the common room followed by Tieran who strutted at a more sedate pace.

“You’re back!” the young woman exclaimed. “Where have you been all day?”

“I had business to which I needed to attend. I also took the opportunity to exercise Pride and myself,” Rezkin answered.

“Oh, that’s good. He gets grumpy when he doesn’t exercise,” Frisha replied.

Tieran chuckled, “Who? The horse or Rezkin?”

“Um…both?” Frisha said with a grin.

“I registered for the rapier division of the tournament, today,” Tieran remarked. The turnout looks to be good. Several of the competitors are quite formidable. There are two masters so far. I look forward to seeing their duel. Have you registered?” the young noble asked.

Rezkin rubbed his jaw thoughtfully and said, “You will not be seeing my name in the registers. My desire to attend the tournament was never for the competition. I have other interests.”

Tieran’s jaw dropped, “But you were supposed to be competing! I was looking forward to seeing how you fare against the other masters.”

“I have no doubt you will see a spectacular show, regardless,” Rezkin said with a grin.

“Oh, Rez, I, too, was looking forward to your performance,” Frisha pouted.

Rezkin donned the smile she seemed to appreciate so much and said, “Do not fret, Frisha. You will not be disappointed.”

“How could I not be if you are not participating? That is the reason I came on this journey,” the woman remarked.

“And I thought it was the simple desire to remain with me,” Rezkin replied.

Frisha blushed and said, “Yes, well, there is that. But, you were supposed to perform well to impress my uncle.”

“Knowing what you know now, Frisha, do you think that any performance in the tournament would be enough to change his mind?” the warrior inquired.

The woman’s face fell, and she said, “No, I suppose not. I guess with your accomplishments, you really do not need to prove yourself, either.” The young woman brightened and said, “This just means you will be able to spend more time with me!”

Rezkin inclined his head and said, “Perhaps, but I have much business to which I must attend while we are here.” He turned to Tieran and said, “When is your first match?”

“The rapier division pre-trials begin first thing in the morning four days hence. The official ceremony to mark the opening of the tournament is not until the afternoon. The competitors’ performances in the pre-trials will confirm their places in the proper tiers. I will not know my schedule until after my place is confirmed and the organizers know how many people will be competing,” the noble explained.

“That seems reasonable,” Rezkin remarked.

“We were just going to meet the Jebais and Brandt for dinner. Would you care to join us?” Tieran asked.

“It would be my pleasure,” Rezkin replied. “Please give me a few moments to change, and I will meet you back here.” Pulling from his repertoire of appropriate compliments, Rezkin said to the young woman, “By the way, Frisha, you look lovely as ever in your new dress. The color compliments your eyes.” It was true. The deep purple silk drew out the darker tones in her hair and eyes and offset her porcelain skin to give her a sensual appeal. The young woman’s face flushed as she thanked him, which only enhanced the look.

The three, with Lieutenant Drascon as escort, met Malcius, Palis, Shiela and Brandt for supper. Everyone was appalled when Tieran announced that Rezkin would not be competing in the tournament. While Rezkin had never actually stated that he would not be competing, he did not correct their assumption. Rezkin could not possibly compete in the tournament in two guises. For one, it was against tournament rules, and he could be disqualified. Two, he would inevitably end up acquiring a match against himself, which would be impossible for obvious reasons.

After the meal, Malcius pulled Rezkin aside for a private discussion. “Palis told me what you said about not being seen with you in public.”

“Yes,” Rezkin nodded, “you are aware of my loyalties. I would not want for you to suffer should others learn of them as well. You are the heir to your House, and I have come to respect you. I would not have you deemed guilty by association.”

Malcius shook his head and spoke with conviction. “Look, Rez, I may not be prepared to make any decisions regarding the information you revealed, but I do understand your position. If it were only up to me, personally, I would not hesitate to stand beside you. While I do not support the current…conditions, neither can I accept an alternative without seeing the proof. I hope you understand.”

“Of course, Malcius, and I respect your caution and reasoning. I would be concerned for your House otherwise,” Rezkin remarked.

Malcius smiled genuinely and said, “You are always so reasonable. It is one of the things I like about you. I have no intention of avoiding you, however. If…interested parties…choose to make assumptions pertaining to my allegiance on the mere fact that I am seen in your presence, then so be it.” The noble paused and then said, “I would have you know, Rez, that I consider you to be a friend. I hope that you accept me as the same. If you come to me in need, I will not turn you away for fear of association.”

Rezkin cocked his head and inquired curiously, “By what method have I become your friend, Malcius? I do not recall applying for such a position.” The warrior was still uncertain as to the process by which such decisions were made.

The young noble laughed heartily. “Ha! You may jest, but it was not such a difficult decision. Think you that I have so many rapping at my door? ‘We come, great and glorious Malcius! We entreat thee! Let us sing thy praises and call thee friend!’ No, Rezkin, it is I who would be honored to be counted among yours.”

Rezkin thought quickly. He had no desire to offend Malcius by rejecting him solely because he did not know the proper procedure for such things. The young Jebai seemed to imply that it had been Malcius’s own decision to call Rezkin friend. Was it so simple as that? Was he permitted to choose those he called friend?

“If ever I could name one to be among my friends, Malcius, it would be you,” he finally said.

Malcius smiled and clapped the warrior on the shoulder. “Good, then it is settled.”

The warrior spent the next few days gathering intelligence, training his friends and associates, and constructing his disguise for the tournament. He had to finish the latter before he could register for his place in the tiers, since he could not be seen registering as himself. The warrior worked with Wesson to prepare the mask he would wear during the competition. He needed something that would not interfere with his vision and breathing, would not easily fall off, and would prevent anyone from seeing his features. Wesson warned him that his ability to influence people’s minds through the spell that had been cast on him had a limited range, and its effectiveness was too variable to be dependable.

“This material is called selaric,” the mage said as he held up a thin black disk. “It is a mage creation, and it is very difficult to produce. Few mages have the proper power ratio to create the material, and even fewer are willing to take the time and effort. Those that do, however, make a hefty profit. It comes at a high cost, but you said you were not concerned about the money. It is durable and lightweight,” Wesson explained. “It is not strong enough for use as armor. It will not protect you and will likely shatter if you take a direct hit to the face, but minor glancing blows should be deflected.”

“It does not matter,” Rezkin stated. “I do not require it for protection. I seek merely to conceal my identity. Why did you choose this material?”

The young mage grinned and excitedly said, “Well, as you can see, it is already sized to fit over your face, but the material is rigid and cannot be shaped. When a trickle of vimara is fed into the selaric, however, it will become pliant like silk, and can be smoothed over your face to take on your exact form. This will make it comfortable to wear because it will fit exactly and should not constrict your vision. The greatest advantage, however, is that, like most mage materials, it reacts to your will when the vimara is applied. So, although it fits the form of your face perfectly on the inside, you can make adjustments to the outer appearance, within reason, of course. You cannot use more material than is present.”

“This is splendid,” Rezkin stated as he examined the dark disk. “Can it be shaped more than once?”

“Minor adjustments can be made afterward if you find it is too uncomfortable or you need extra air holes or something like that, but I would not suggest attempting to reform the entire mask. Selaric seems to last indefinitely when formed the first time but degrades quickly with additional transformations,” Wesson explained. “Shall we form the mask now?”

Rezkin nodded and handed the disk back to the eager mage. He seated himself on a chair next to a small table that held a mirror. Wesson pulled over a second chair and sat facing the warrior. As the mage held the disk to Rezkin’s face, the warrior felt a faint buzzing in the air, and his muscles tingled. As soon as the disk touched his nose it began to slip over the curves of his face until it fit as a second skin. His body suddenly surged with alarm as he realized it would be impossible for him to take another breath with the material over his face. Wesson quickly split the selaric below the nose and over the mouth so that Rezkin would not suffocate. Next, he created holes over Rezkin’s eyes so the warrior could actually see what was happening.

The image in the mirror was amazing. It was a perfect replica of Rezkin’s true face formed in the darkest black. With the exception of the few holes, the mask was flawless. As he watched, the face in the mirror began to distort in a most disturbing way. Although he felt none of the changes from within, the surface was roiling with continuous waves of hills and valleys.

“Now is for the difficult part,” Wesson stated. “I will have to do the forming, since my vimara responds to my will. You will have to tell me how you want it to look. This may take a while to get right. I have never been very good at sculpting,” the mage said with chagrin.

For the next while, Rezkin and Wesson worked to get the mask just as Rezkin desired. They tried several looks. Some were grotesque and others simply frightening. Both were pleased when they finally agreed on one.

“An additional advantage to this material is that enchantments are much easier to apply and are more stable when cast on mage materials. Your eyes are particularly striking when set against the black of the mask. People will remember those eyes. I can apply an enchantment to fix that little problem, though,” the mage stated.

“Will that not cause problems with the tournament officials? They will sense the enchantment,” Rezkin replied, his voice muffled by the mask.

“Yes, they will notice the enchantment, but they will also be able to determine its purpose. The officials will not be able to see past the enchantment unless they break it, though, and I doubt they will be able to do so,” Wesson informed.

“Why is that?” the warrior asked.

“Because I am extremely powerful,” Wesson replied without a hint of conceit. “I intend to use a nocent spell to disrupt the light as it passes through the eyeholes. Like the sound barrier, it will only work one way, so it will not interfere with your vision. From the outside, though, people will see nothing but a black void where your eyes should be. I think it will be most intimidating,” he said with a boyish grin.

“That will be perfect,” Rezkin commented.

“Since we extended the lower part away from your mouth, I am putting some ventilation slits here along the sides of your face,” the journeyman said. “I will cover over those with the same spell, so they will not be seen. Additionally, I am creating a slight negative pressure zone on the inner side of the lower mask, which will effectively draw fresh air in through the slits so you will have no problems breathing. I could place another spell to vaporize any dust that enters, but it might cause the air to heat uncomfortably.”

“No, that will not be necessary,” Rezkin stated.

“Hmm, I may be able to create a filter that prevents anything but air from entering,” the mage mused. “The last thing I need to do is add a spell for your voice. This spell is a combination of constructive and destructive. It will enable the sound to pass through the mage material unhindered, so it will sound as though you are speaking without the mask, and your voice will not be muffled. The spell will also disrupt the listener’s ability to connect the voice with any in his or her memory or to store the voice as a new memory. Not even I will recognize your voice,” the mage added.

“That will be exceedingly helpful. I had intended to simply avoid speaking unless absolutely necessary. This is a much more convenient solution. You have a cunning and devious mind, Journeyman. You are well-suited to your profession,” Rezkin praised.

When the mask was finished it was something to behold – or not, as the case was. By no magic, but rather the simple design and appearance, the mask made one wish to look away. It was most disturbing because it lacked any humanity. It was not intricate or fearsome, but its utter simplicity was frightening on a base level. The facial contours had been smoothed away, and the lower half had been raised outward. From nose to chin ran a smooth ridge with the sides slanting away. The brow ridge was smooth but enhanced, causing the eyes to appear as sunken black pits. It looked like a face that had gone unformed with no nose or mouth, and the black voids that should have been eyes could surely capture one’s soul.

Rezkin tested the finished mask and found that the mage had been truthful in his assertions. The inner form was comfortable and caused no chaffing or restrictions. He could see clearly, and the material was thin enough that it did not narrow his field of vision. The constant inflow of air was interesting. It was a bit like breathing with a breeze in your face at all times, but he could see how it would be advantageous during a battle.

“If you did no other work for me, I would say you have earned every copper of your pay,” Rezkin stated with approval.

Wesson grinned broadly and said, “It was not so difficult, really.”

“Perhaps, perhaps not. I cannot say, but how many other mages do you think I could trust with a task such as this? Any that did not attempt to kill or capture me immediately would surely alert the authorities if they knew the reason for my needs,” the warrior stated.

Wesson shifted uncomfortably. “I do not know about that. Mages are affected by the happenings in the kingdom as much as anyone. King Caydean has turned his demands and restrictions on us, as well. I am certain that, in a few months time, it will be impossible to obtain any selaric and probably a number of other necessary or useful mage supplies. The man from whom I obtained this piece mentioned rumors of a mage draft. Caydean is not just building up his mundane army.”

“That is disturbing, but it does not change the fact that you are an invaluable resource to me at this time. If you are in need of anything, do not hesitate to ask. I would not have you choose to leave my employment simply for a better offer,” Rezkin stated as he stared at the mage meaningfully.

The young mage flushed with the praise. He bowed slightly and said, “Thank you, Lord Rezkin. Your confidence in my skills is gratifying. I will be sure to notify you if I have needs that surpass the already generous sum you offered.”

“Excellent. Now, if you would retrieve Kai and Tam and bring them back here in about a quarter of a mark, I will don the rest of my guise,” Rezkin requested.

After Wesson left, Rezkin stripped out of his clothes and dressed in all black garb. He wore a fitted black shirt and black breeches. Black leather armor with silver buckles came next. The armor was light but had several metal plates sewn between the layers for protection. Over this he wore a long, black tabard with jagged green lightning embroidered along the panels to match the pattern in his new blade. The crackling lines in the blade were thin, but in the light they were filled with luminescence that he had no doubt would be visible from the furthest stands. He added polished black boots that turned down just below the knees.

Rezkin was not done, yet. He still needed to do something about his hair. Black hair was fairly common in Ashai, but his was blacker than most and very straight. He did not want to give any clues to his identity until it became absolutely necessary. He braided his hair with a dozen plaits and then gathered the bag of hair samples Frisha obtained for him. He had prepared the samples already by braiding the multicolored locks into separate plaits and attaching each of them to a small clip. The warrior carefully clipped the braids into his own hair in a random array. The effect was superb. His head was covered in dozens of braids in every color and shade from his natural black to browns, blondes, reds, silvers and whites. No one could possibly guess his true color.

Just as he heard the others tromping up the stairs, Rezkin strapped on his thick black sword belt that was held together by large silver and gold buckle set with emeralds to match the scabbard. Finally, he donned the disturbing mask and threw on a long black cloak leaving the hood hanging down his back.

The door swung open, and all three men jumped back. Kai’s hand immediately went to his hilt, but Wesson stopped him short of drawing the weapon. The mage ushered the two awestruck vassals into the room and shut and barred the door. The mage turned, and all three men stared at the most frightening apparition they ever had chance to witness.

“Um…Rez?” Tam finally stammered.

“It is I, Tam,” Rezkin replied.

Tam was unnerved, and Kai narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “You do not sound like Rezkin.” To the mage he said, “Are we certain this is he? What stands before me is surely a demon or wraith.”

Even though Wesson had formed the mask, he still felt the overall appearance was terrifying. He chuckled at the absurdity. He knew full well Rezkin was under the guise and, yet, he was still filled with sudden dread. “I think your disguise meets with their approval.”

“Forever more, when I read Tales of the Shadow Knight, this is the image I will see in my mind,” Tam muttered under his breath. “In fact, this might be the image to haunt my nightmares hence forth.”

The striker finally grinned and said, “You truly do look the part. Wrathful king, vengeful wraith or dreaded assassin, you will instill fear in the hearts of your enemies. Let it be known just who those enemies are, and you will have the hearts of your subjects.”

Rezkin cocked his head thoughtfully. The others swayed back slightly.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Ah, well, when you usually do that, it makes you appear thoughtful and open. Now, it just looks disturbingly…alien,” Kai observed.

“Is that so? Perhaps I can use that to my advantage,” the warrior replied.

Kai turned abruptly to the mage and blurted, “What is wrong with his voice? It is too much for my mind to accept. Are you certain that is Rezkin?”

Rezkin chuckled and removed the mask revealing that he was, in fact, himself.

“I require your assistance, Kai. I need to test the disguise as well as the sword. We will go to the forest outside the city to spar,” Rezkin declared.

“Sword? Ah! I did not know you obtained a new sword,” the striker exclaimed.

“Come to think of it, it may be a good idea for the Journeyman to attend, as well. The sword is unique. It was made with a mage material that has never been seen before and likely never will again, since the mage cannot seem to figure out how he made it,” Rezkin replied. “That is why it is so important that we test it. I cannot have it shattering during a duel.”

“Yes, that would be unfortunate,” Kai muttered.

“Can I come?” Tam asked excitedly.

“Of course, Tam. You are more than welcomed,” the warrior replied.

Rezkin rubbed his chin as he thought over his options. Finally, he said, “I do not wish to change before we leave and then change again once we arrive. I will meet you all at the tree line on the eastern road.”

Kai frowned. “How do you expect to get there without being seen?”

“I am a Master of Stealth, Kai, day and night. I will succeed,” Rezkin replied.

Kai let out a low whistle. “Not too many Stealthmasters. I know you said you mastered all the Skills, but I still cannot say I believe it.”

Rezkin waved them off and then replaced his mask. He pulled the hood low over his face and slipped out his window, which faced the alley. He easily swung up onto the roof and then sprinted across to the next one. As he passed over the roofs and through dark alleys, he mentally focused on his will. Whenever he was in a particularly tricky area where he was sure to be glimpsed, he pulled his cloak around himself and hunched over, willing observers to believe he was just a street beggar and nothing more. With nothing but quick glances and a dark cloak to observe, he was fairly certain the spell would be convincing.

With nowhere to go, few people ventured outside the city, so once the young warrior was on the open road he had little about which to worry. In fact, he did not pass another soul until he caught up with his companions. Testing his own abilities and the spell’s limits, he scurried from copse to copse around them, willing them to believe he was nothing more than a shadow. The striker’s eyes darted in his direction several times, but he never caught sight of the warrior. The mage became visibly uncomfortable a few times when Rezkin passed particularly near, but neither did he determine Rezkin’s presence. Tam was completely oblivious to Rezkin’s antics, but he grew unsettled in reaction to the striker’s darting eyes.

“How long do you think it will take him to get here?” Tam asked once they reached the edge of the forest.

“It could take some time. Moving with stealth through a busy city in broad daylight is no easy task. Add to that the man’s insane getup, and we may have to wait a while,” Kai grumbled.

Rezkin decided in that moment to drop down from a tree directly into the striker’s path. The man jumped back with a shout, and abruptly drew his sword before realizing the specter before him was Rezkin.

Thrusting his blade back into its sheath, Kai exclaimed, “You should not surprise a man who wields a blade, especially a Swordmaster. I could have run you through.”

“Not likely,” Rezkin remarked, his voice enchanted to be unrecognizable. He cocked his head simply because he knew the striker found it unnerving. “I have been stalking you for about half a mark.”

Kai frowned. “You have to do something about that, Mage. Every sentence he speaks is as if I am hearing his voice for the first time. At the very least, I should be able to recognize his voice from one sentence to the next. This is completely unnatural.”

Wesson smiled devilishly, which was a strange look on such a beautiful male face. “I think the spell is working perfectly, then. He is supposed to be frightening and unnerving. He is The Rez.”

Chapter 18

The group trod further into the woods off the main path. When they found a clearing large enough, the striker and Rezkin faced off. Rezkin drew the sword, and the others were just as astounded by its beauty and uniqueness as Rezkin had been. Wesson could not wait to examine the material in whatever way mages did such things. Tam was disappointed that he would likely never be able to obtain such a weapon.

The two expert swordsmen put the sword through a rigorous round of testing, which also served as excellent exercise for both warriors. When they were finished, not a scratch or nick could be seen on the black blade. The sword looked as though it had never been wielded. What was more interesting was that every time the swords connected, the green bolts within glowed brighter, and Rezkin barely felt the reverberating effects of the collision. The companions pondered the question for a while and finally decided that the mage material within the iron was somehow absorbing the power of the collision, and the power was either stored or released as the visible glow. Since Kai did not feel the same reduction in the power of the strike, they determined that only Rezkin would be affected and not his opponent.

Rezkin was worried that the blade was somehow inadvertently enchanted and he would not be able to use it for the tournament, but the mage was quick to dismiss the concern. He assured the warrior that the effect was simply a property of the material and not an enchantment. Many mages would be at the tournament, some monitoring for enchanted weapons, others making sure that any mages competing did not use their powers. In addition, many talented healers would be on hand. Wesson assured Rezkin that any of the mages that examined the blade would be able to tell that it was not enchanted.

The warrior was extremely pleased with his new sword and had few complaints about his attire. Wesson added one more small enchantment to his mask and hair clips, which prevented them from coming loose. The enchantment used Rezkin’s will to determine if he actually wanted the items to be removed before releasing them. The layered black attire, extra hair, mask and cloak were all terribly hot in the late summer sun, but this was one instance where appearances were more important than practicality. Rezkin did not care about winning the tournament. His purposes were to draw the attention of the strikers in a way that impressed upon them his value and threat of danger, and to gain notice by the crowd in a way that inspired them to lend him their support.

The following day, Rezkin dashed across rooftops and through alleys to the tournament grounds in full costume. The competition was to be held in two arenas. The smaller of the two was a new temporary elliptical field around which mobile wooden stands were situated. Two daises were constructed at the center of each long side, one for the officials, and one for important spectators. The larger arena was a massive, permanent structure designed to hold competitions and performances throughout the year. The structure was constructed of a combination of white stone and wood with wooden stands along three sides. The fourth side abutted a natural stone incline into which long rows of benches had been carved. The stone that had been removed from the stands was likely used in the construction of the remainder of the arena.

Once Rezkin was within sight of the main arena, he slipped covertly into the flow of traffic. He stood straight with broad shoulders, his hood was raised but pulled back enough for his mask and unusual braids to be seen, and he walked with confidence and purpose. With his will, he impressed upon the passing crowd that he was someone important, which was not difficult given his costly attire and domineering bearing. With his cloak billowing behind him, each step he took said that he not only owned this path but the entire world it sat upon. His demeanor would brook no argument.

When people saw the dark wraith approaching, they immediately jumped out of the way and stood clinging to each other, mouths agape. When Rezkin arrived at the entrance to the arena, a troop of kingdom soldiers was marching down the path in four columns. While everyone else stepped off the path to let the soldiers pass, Rezkin simply strode forward, unflinchingly and without pause. The soldiers parted before him, like water flowing around an immovable boulder. It was not until he had passed that the commander called the halt and all stood staring at the imposing warrior’s back as he entered the portico.

Once inside the walls, Rezkin turned to one of several booths that lined the registration area. He had already scouted the event ahead of time, so he knew exactly where he needed to be and what to expect. The lines to most of the booths were long, but one was reserved for registration of nobles of high standing and important diplomats. Two such men were standing at the table surrounded by their entourage of usual retainers. As Rezkin strode forward, a ripple of unease and fear spread through the gathering as each person took in his visage.

Rezkin stopped a few paces from the affluent group at the registration table, and it was as if Death, himself, had found his victim and need go no further. Every heart among them pounded rapidly, each with a visceral desire for the source of their dread to continue moving past. Rezkin cocked his head in the manner Kai found so disturbing, one way and then the other as he took in each of the competitors. Kai must not have been alone in his opinion of the motion, since the young warrior received several flinches and a few back steps from the group.

One of the attendants manning the booth finally shook his voice free and said, “Uh…N-Name?” His question was directed at the Torreli emissary who stood before him, but his eyes remained on Rezkin.

The Torreli did not answer, as he, too, stared at the dark warrior in their midst. Eventually, he bowed slightly and waved for Rezkin to go ahead. Rezkin nodded acceptance and stepped before the attendant who was now flanked by a couple of additional attendants. Rezkin noticed how others moved in with curiosity but kept a wary distance. A number of people who had been milling about the registration area were now within listening range, and several guards had stepped forward sensing the threat. Although more people were gathering, everyone remained as far back as possible, so long as each was still able to hear.

The registration attendant swallowed noticeably as he looked up into the black voids that were the dark warrior’s eyes. “Ah…I-In which competition do you wish to c-c-compete?”

“Main and melee,” the dark warrior replied.

The small, balding man rifled through the parchments and selected the one labeled “Melee.”

“And, in which tier will you compete for the main duel?” the attendant asked.

“The Fifth,” came the dark and unnatural bass response.

The attendant’s lips pursed in an ‘o’ as several of the people around him stepped further back. After flipping through his parchments to the appropriate list, the man asked, “Your kingdom and city of origin?”

“Ashai,” the dark warrior stated.

The attendant paused, waiting for more information, but when it was not forthcoming, he simply scribbled down the information. “A-And, your name, m-my lord?”

“I wear the mask. I am called Dark Tidings,” he said ominously.

A collective gasp sounded from the crowd, and Rezkin turned his gaze to them as they shivered under his terrifying notice. Rezkin returned his attention to the attendant as the man squirmed in his seat.

“T-The fee to enter the Fifth Tier Main Event is one hundred gold, but it is only twenty gold to enter the Melee, since it is a new competition. There will be a pre-trial to ensure appropriate placement. It is just a formality…t-to make sure you are suited to the tier. You can pay after you have passed the pre-trial,” the attendant said anxiously.

“When and where shall I undergo this trial?” the dark warrior asked.

Everyone flinched. Although he had spoken several times already, each time his voice registered anew in their minds. The effect was surreal and unnerving, especially since those in the crowd did not understand the source of their unease.

The attendant glanced at the two competitors who had occupied the table before Rezkin’s arrival and then turned to look at the attendants manning the booths beside him. Everyone simply nodded to the unspoken question, and the man said, “You may go in immediately. Pass through this portico, here, and report to the man with the red band around his arm. I am not sure who is on duty at the moment, but it will be a Swordmaster who has previously ranked highly in the Fifth Tier competition. You are not competing to win, only to prove that you belong in the Fifth Tier.” The man took in Rezkin’s formidable presence once again and added, “We, ah, hope to avoid any serious injuries during the pre-trial.”

Rezkin nodded once, inclined his head slightly to the competitors who had conceded their place in line, and then marched with an imperial swagger through the portico. He was not alone, though. The majority of the crowd who were not preoccupied with duties followed in his wake. Normally, Rezkin would scorn such attention, but this was the reason he was competing in the tournament, so he suffered it willingly.

The arena was filled with groups of people testing for their places in the tiers. The evaluators and aids for each tier wore different colored bands, so he had no difficulty finding his place. A swordsman with a red armband was conducting a trial for a group of three individuals. As Rezkin passed the groups of blue and yellow competitors, their eyes turned from evaluating their opponents to watching the black wraith pass through the arena.

Rezkin stopped several paces from the dueling official and his opponent and waited to be called forth. The official’s back was to the mysterious warrior so the man could not see what was causing such commotion, but the competitor had full view and lost his focus for a moment when Rezkin approached. The unfortunate man took a shallow slash to the arm. Rezkin did not feel any compassion for the competitor, however. As a Fifth Tier hopeful, he should be able to maintain focus when faced with the unexpected. The man quickly recovered and finished his trial, and the official granted him a strip of red cloth to tie around his left bicep.

The official turned and noted Rezkin’s presence without a flinch, although his eyes lay heavily on the warrior’s mask for several moments. The man also noted the gathering crowd in the closest stands and those that had followed the strange competitor into the arena. Finally, he turned back to the next competitor and waved the man forward. The ostentatious man was in his early thirties, and he strode boldly with raised chin and a disdainful sneer. His bearing asserted a refusal to be to be intimidated by some lark in a mask; yet, the man seemed unwilling to meet the dark warrior’s hollow eyes.

The competitor introduced himself as Lord Urterian, Marquis of Shezeil, from the Kingdom of Jerea. Rezkin assumed the official had already introduced himself when the other competitors arrived. The two exchanged blows for several moments, and the interchange was impressive. Anyone hoping to compete in the Fifth Tier had to be a Swordmaster or close to, but there were many levels of skill, and not everyone was suited to the dueling style. True battle was rough and dirty. Rezkin rarely had to exchange many blows with an opponent because he always had the option to smash his opponent in the face with his hilt or lob a throwing ax at the man.

Duels had strict guidelines for appropriate combat moves. All strikes and blows were to be made with the sword blade, which meant he was not permitted to punch, kick, trip or elbow his opponent when he had an opening. While he could move in any direction by any method, he had to stay within a defined boundary. Stepping outside of the boundary would incur one point, a bleeding wound was worth one point, and being disarmed was an automatic loss. The first person to receive three points was deemed the loser. All of the points were compounded throughout the tournament to assist in ranking the competitors and matching them with appropriate opponents.

A competitor’s score was determined by dividing the number of total points accrued by the number of matches in which the competitor fought. Each competitor’s name was carved into a plaque and hung from hooks beneath a sign for his or her tier in the main hall. The competitor’s score ratio was posted next to his or her name, and the listings were shifted regularly so that the best competitors were posted toward the top.

Rezkin waited patiently as Lord Urterian finished his pre-trial. In the end, the lord was awarded the red strip of fabric, but rather than leaving the field, he stepped to the side to join the competitor who had finished before him. The two exchanged pleasantries and laughed about how they considered this to be a simple warm-up while the third man stepped forward to complete his pre-trial.

The third man turned out to be a common soldier and blacksmith named Aspion of Ludren, which was a province in the Kingdom of Channería. The two other competitors chuckled when the man introduced himself. Aspion ignored the tittering lords and drew his sword. By the end of Aspion’s pre-trial, none were in doubt that he was a formidable opponent. His skill with a blade was certainly masterful, and his years of working as a smith lent him strength the other two could not hope to match with their undoubtedly lavish lifestyles. Aspion, too, was awarded the red band of the Fifth Tier.

The official turned and spoke loud enough for the new arrivals to overhear. In the time Rezkin had been waiting, a line of five others had formed behind him.

“I am Brendam LuDou, Captain of the Royal Guard for King Desbian of Torrel,” the official stated in a thick Torreli accent that sounded as though his tongue curled around his words. “I took first place in the tournament three years back. I am not competing this year as I am serving on the Oversight Committee to ensure the competition is conducted fairly. I will evaluate whether or not you are suited to compete in the Fifth Tier.”

The official finally turned to Rezkin and motioned him forward. Rezkin’s long strides ate up the ground between them quickly. He stood across from the man silently, motionlessly, an onyx statue in a field of swordsmen. The only disillusionment was the rustling of his cloak in the breeze.

The dark warrior removed his hood fully revealing his mask and array of colored braids. “You may call me Dark Tidings,” Rezkin intoned, his voice clear and unperturbed by the enchanted full-face mask.

Despite the chorus of mutterings from the crowd, his opponent grinned and shook his head saying, “That is a good one. I have not heard before of its use in the tournament.” Rezkin tilted his head slightly in acknowledgement of the compliment. The captain raised his blade and said, “On guard.”

The dark warrior drew his sword and raised it to mirror the captain. The almost crystalline black blade drew the eyes of everyone, and the fiery green lines of lightning within glowed in the sunlight. A ripple of commotion quickly passed through the arena, and pretty soon everyone had stopped to observe the unique sword. The captain’s eyes widened, and he lowered his blade.

“I apologize, but I must have your…unusual…sword checked for enchantments. Enchanted blades are not permitted in the competition,” the captain said as he waved to a couple of mages who had seen the blade and were already en route. One of the mages was an older man wearing a charcoal grey robe with brown and white panels, indicating his strongest affinities were of the earth and wind elements. The young woman beside him wore the same charcoal robe, but her panels were red and blue, an odd combination of affinities, since fire and water did not usually present strongly in the same person.

Rezkin simply inclined his head in acceptance. The mages stopped short of the dark warrior, their hesitance overcoming their excitement. Rezkin held the sword before him in the appropriate manner for handing the weapon over to another person. The older man took the sword reverently and held it so he and the woman could both perform the examination. The two muttered and made several exclamations about material empowerment, integral structural formation, and other such scholarly observations. Eventually, the captain simply got tired of waiting and interrupted the two mages.

“Is the weapon enchanted or not?” Captain LuDou asked.

“Oh, no, not at all,” the woman replied, astounded by her own revelation. “It is unbelievable, really.”

The captain shook his head and said, “Then, please return the sword so we can get on with this. If you have a desire to study it further, you can perhaps make arrangements with the man later.” The two mages were both disappointed and handed the sword back reluctantly.

“I apologize for the delay,” the captain said. “Are you ready?”

Rezkin inclined his head affirmatively and raised his blade. The captain took the offensive and slashed at the dark warrior. Rezkin darted out of the way quicker than the captain expected, but the man recovered fast enough to block Rezkin’s first attack. Rezkin’s blade lit with crackling green light as they clashed, and the growing crowd exclaimed as one. The blow was fast and powerful, and the captain realized he would need to exert a little more effort to match this opponent.

Rezkin was impressed with the captain’s Skill and wondered how much more effective he would be without the constraints of the tournament rules. Some duelists, like the nobles with whom he traveled, depended on the rules since they had few fighting Skills outside of their sword training. Rezkin did not think this to be the case with Captain LuDou.

After about a dozen clashes of blades, Rezkin finally decided he was finished with the demonstration and stepped in as the blades met. He twisted his wrist quickly, locking the other blade with his cross guard and simultaneously shifted his body into a turn. His arms swung up and around as he twisted his grip, and the captain’s sword went flying. Several spectating competitors jumped out of the way as the weapon darted in their direction. The captain stood, mouth agape, as he stared after his sword. Rezkin sheathed his black blade and bowed slightly in a sign of respect for his opponent. The captain shook himself free of his shock and returned the gesture.

“I have never seen that move before. It was…” the man paused, shaking his head, “astounding.” The captain pulled from his belt a wide strip of red fabric and handed it to Rezkin. “I look forward to seeing you compete. I think I am glad I am not going up against you.”

“You were holding back,” Rezkin observed.

The captain nodded and chuckled as he said, “Yes, I am only to evaluate, not make an example of everyone. But…I think you were holding back, as well, were you not?”

Again, Rezkin inclined his head in acknowledgement as he took the strip of fabric. He could now see that it held a small, embroidered golden emblem of a lion on one end. When his fingers passed over the emblem, he felt a slight tingling of mage power. Glancing around, he noticed that he had managed to not only garner the attention of the spectators and other competitors, but a group of mages gathered to one side talking excitedly with the two who had examined his blade. Additionally, in the first row of the stands closest to him, stood two of the strikers he had identified as being among Caydean’s favored. The two watched him intently as they spoke, but he could not make out their words.

The dark warrior turned and strode back through the portico with a gathering in his wake. The three Fifth Tier competitors who had passed their trials before him followed as closely as they dared. The two nobles whispered animatedly, but the blacksmith kept his distance from the other two. Rezkin approached the table at which he had registered, and a second attendant hurried over to check his status. The first looked up curiously but was busy with another competitor. Rezkin simply held out the red strip of fabric for the attendant’s perusal.

The man snatched at the parchments that held Rezkin’s registration and made a few marks. He said, “The fee for both the main and melee events will be one hundred and twenty gold.”

Rezkin pulled from his purse a saph and two drets. A saph was a gold piece with a sapphire set into the center, and it represented a hundred gold pieces. A dret was gold with an outer ring of a mage-crafted material called dretious, and it was worth ten gold pieces. He handed the coins over to the attendant, and the man made a few marks in his book.

When the attendant was finished marking the payment, he motioned to the mage standing behind him. The mage was young, probably around eighteen years of age, and he wore the light grey robes of an apprentice. The young man instructed Rezkin to hold the red strip of fabric so that the gold emblem rested between his thumb and forefinger. Rezkin felt a small tingle of power and the emblem warmed between his fingers.

“The emblem is activated, now. It is your proof of payment and registration. You will need to wear it on your left bicep at all times when you are in one of the arenas, even if you are not competing. You will be disqualified if you are seen without it,” the mage explained. The mage’s eyes rested on Rezkin’s sword, and he added, “If you wait for a few moments, someone will be by shortly to provide you with a second ribbon for your sword. It will indicate to other officials that your sword has already been checked for enchantments. It will save you much time and trouble.”

Rezkin nodded his understanding and then stepped aside. The blacksmith was next in line behind him, since the two nobles were busy gossiping with a couple of their peers. The blacksmith stepped forward and glanced back at Rezkin. It was impossible to tell where Rezkin was looking since his eye sockets were nothing but black voids. The man returned his attention to the attendant and said, “They told me to complete the registration here after I passed the pre-trial. You said the main and the melee were one-twenty together, yes? How high must I rank to receive a prize?”

“The top ten competitors receive a trophy, and their names are recorded in the archive. The top five competitors receive a monetary award. For the Fifth Tier, it is five thousand gold for first prize, plus a plot of land or two thousand additional gold for foreigners or second-time winners. Second place receives two thousand gold, one thousand for third, eight hundred for fourth, and six hundred for fifth. We expect around forty to fifty participants in the Fifth Tier.”

Aspion rubbed his chin and said, “The fee has increased much since last year.”

“Yes,” replied the attendant seriously, but with more patience than Rezkin would have expected. “It was only seventy five for the main event last year.”

Aspion sighed and said, “I cannot afford both events, and with the demonstration I just witnessed, I am no longer so certain I can place. It is a lot of money for one such as me. I think I may have to pass on the main. I will just be registering for the melee.”

Rezkin frowned beneath his mask. He was actually looking forward to seeing the commoner put some of the pompous nobles in their places. Before the attendant could make a mark, a saph landed on his parchments. Both men looked up startled. The dark wraith had suddenly appeared at the table without a sound.

“I will sponsor Master Aspion for the main competition,” the dark warrior stated.

The blacksmith protested saying, “Lord…ah…Dark Tidings, it is really not ne…”

Rezkin interrupted the man with a raised hand and said, “If I am to compete in this tournament, then I would choose to compete against the best swordsmen, not the richest. You have been found worthy of the tier, and you should make a showing, regardless of whether or not you win. In fact,” he said, raising his voice for all in his vicinity to hear, “I will cover the fee for any commoner qualifying for the Fifth Tier who cannot afford the fee.” He looked back to see the look of shock on the men’s faces. “Do not consider this charity. I seek worthy opponents.”

The blacksmith snapped his mouth shut and nodded once in acceptance. “If that is the case, then I accept.”

The young female mage who had previously examined Rezkin’s blade approached as Rezkin turned to the attendant. “Let my offer be known. Any commoner who can qualify for the Fifth Tier may compete at my expense. I will return on the eve of the final day of registration and make good on the offer. If they have completed the pre-trial and present themselves at that time, their fees will be paid.”

The serious attendant’s face broke into a wide grin as he said, “That is most gracious of you, my lord. I will spread the word.”

Rezkin turned to the woman who was obviously waiting on him. She held out a wide strip of green fabric. “This will certify that your sword has already been examined. I made it green to match your colors,” she said with a slight blush. She cleared her throat and continued, “I will need to place it on the blade to activate the emblem.”

The dark warrior nodded and drew his blade once again. He held it before him in a demonstrative stance that indicated he did not intend to use the weapon. The woman laid the green fabric against the blade and then pressed her finger to the emblem. Rezkin felt the enchantment take effect with a slight tingling.

The young woman smiled and said, “You can tie it to the scabbard if you prefer.”

Rezkin bowed slightly and said, “Thank you, Mage…”

“Nanessy,” the woman replied. “I am Nanessy Threll, Elemental Mage.”

Rezkin bowed again and said, “Thank you, Mage Nanessy Threll.”

Before the woman could utter a request for additional time with his blade, Rezkin strode away. The dark warrior passed beyond the outer portico to see a small, gathered crowd. Word had already spread to those in the immediate vicinity of the dreadful swordsman. Rezkin strode forward with purpose and confidence, and the crowd parted as a wave around a ship’s prow.

Once he passed the main crowd, Rezkin ducked into a side alley. He had seen the two men following and decided it was time to disappear. He supposed their pursuit was only fair play since he had followed them a few times already. They had never detected his presence, though. The young warrior leapt a low wall, slipped through an open door, dashed through a vacant room, and ducked out of a window into the next alley. After scaling a trellis, the dark warrior concealed himself in the shadow of an eave that nearly overlapped a chimney. As he waited, one of the strikers finally appeared on a roof two buildings over from where Rezkin was secreted. The man was not looking along the rooftops, though. He was still surveying the streets and alleys below. Rezkin had already managed to lose the two strikers, but they were probably not expecting him to attempt to slip away. They would surely increase their efforts each time he lost them.

When the strikers moved on, Rezkin made his way in a circuitous route back to the inn. He entered through his window that faced the alley and undressed quickly. He removed the braids and washed the kinks out of his own hair. Afterward, he washed the shirt and breeches he had worn for the trial and hung them to dry behind the dressing screen. Finally, he dressed in a well-made white tunic and loose brown pants.

Wesson had enchanted Rezkin’s trunk to only open for him, and this was where he stored his Sheyalins while he had been preoccupied. He buckled the sword belt around his waist and stored his disguise gear in the trunk before making his way down the stairs to the common room. It was just nearing midday, and any who did not know him might have assumed he was a spoiled lord who chose to sleep all day. They might even believe he was recovering from a night of drinking or some other sordid activity.

Frisha smiled over her teacup as she saw him enter. “Did you get some good exercise this morning?” she asked. Tam and Drascon were enjoying a pint of ale beside her.

Rezkin smiled pleasantly and replied, “Indeed, I did. I am afraid I neglected Pride, though. I shall have to take him for a ride later.”

The young woman said, “I still cannot believe you are not competing in the tournament after coming all this way. At least it will give you time to watch the others compete. It is so exciting, isn’t it? I can’t imagine what it would be like to have so many eyes on you. I think I would die of fright.”

Rezkin nodded and said, “That is the nature of the sport, though. I do not profess to enjoy such attention. In fact, it is against the Rules to revel in one’s success. This sport was designed to demonstrate and display mastery of Skills that were developed to kill. Never is there any glory in killing, Frisha. Sometimes it must be done, but even when one finds satisfaction in the justice achieved, there is no glory. It is only sad that it had to come to such a fate.”

“I am glad you feel that way, Rez,” Tam said. “Although I have accepted the things you have had to do, it heartens me to hear you speak of it so.”

Rezkin lowered his voice and said, “I have said before that I do not find joy in killing. I have never believed in glorifying the method in tournaments. That being said, I recognize Jimson’s point of view that tournaments are a great learning resource for those who have not had the benefit of expensive tutoring. The fact is, most of these duelists have never had to kill anyone, so their reality is skewed. To them, it truly is just a sport.”

“At least it is a sport with practical application,” Tam remarked. “We spent hours playing fithyball in the street as kids, and I cannot imagine a use for that. If they are ever needed in a fight, at least these duelists have some skill. And, think of all the others who wish to be duelists but never make it. At least they know how to handle a sword, too. I’d never even touched a sword until you came along, Rez.”

The usually quiet Drascon added, “Duelists might go either way in training for the army. They are easier to train to the sword because they already have some training, or at least a basic understanding, but it is difficult to get them to break from the rules. They do not adjust well to the brutal free-for-all that is true battle. Even the army training can be deceiving in that regard, or so I have been told.”

“Huh, I can see that,” Tam replied.

“I understand what you are saying, Tam. Perhaps you are correct,” Rezkin remarked. “It is good that the tournaments encourage people to develop any amount of swordsmanship. It makes the kingdom stronger when more people are trained to defend it.”

At that moment, Palis, followed by Brandt, Waylen and Malcius, came rushing through the door in excitement. “Have you heard?” the younger Jebai exclaimed.

The four simply looked at the young noble in surprise. “Heard what?” Frisha finally asked.

“Oh, you have not heard, then. The news is spreading quickly, though. We were over at the arena this morning watching the pre-trials. Do you know who was there?” Palis asked excitedly.

The listeners shook their heads, and Palis continued, “It was the Rez, himself! Or… at least it was someone who could be the Rez. He called himself Dark Tidings, and if ever there was a Rez, I swear he had to be this man!”

“What are you talking about?” Frisha exclaimed. “You actually saw the Rez?”

Brandt pulled a chair over to the table and turned it backward before sitting and crossing his arms over the back. “It had to be him. He was dressed all in black, and he wore a black mask. Even his eyes were completely black. His hair was all different colors, but it was obviously part of the disguise. Get this, though! Even his sword was black. It was not like blackened steel or tarnish. The metal was actually like clear black crystal, and inside was green lightning!” Tam was working very hard to keep from looking at Rezkin, so he focused on watching Brandt’s nostrils flare as he spoke enthusiastically.

Drascon stated in his typical monotone, “Enchanted swords are banned from the tournament.”

Palis shook his head and said, “No, the mages checked. They said it bore no enchantments. Even so, during his pre-trial, whenever the swords clashed the green lightning inside lit up. I have never heard of the like!”

“He was ridiculously fast, too!” Waylen interjected. “I think he could even give Rezkin a run, and we all know how fast he is.” Everyone looked at Rezkin, and the man just shrugged.

“You would not believe the pre-trial match. In only a few minutes, he disarmed the Captain of the Royal Guard of Torrel,” Palis added.

Drascon released a low whistled and asked, “He won the tournament a few years back, did he not?”

“He did,” Palis agreed.

“That is not the best part, though,” Malcius said as he pulled up a chair. “Afterward, he paid for a commoner to enter the tournament and announced that he would do the same for any commoner who could qualify for the Fifth Tier.”

Palis scowled, “How is that the best part? Did you not see his sword? Did you not see him best the former champion?”

Malcius shook his head and said, “Of course those things are impressive, but anyone can buy a sword, and it was not an official match. By offering to pay for the commoners to compete, he is making a political statement.”

“He is saying he finds them to be opponents as worthy as the nobles,” Drascon observed.

“Exactly,” Malcius replied. “He is saying he values skill above wealth or title. Some have argued that the high fees required to enter the tournament are designed to keep commoners out of the higher tiers. They want to keep the competition ‘pure,’ in their opinions. This Dark Tidings is sabotaging the scheme.”

“Others are speaking of this already?” Rezkin asked curiously. The warrior was actually surprised by this revelation. When he made the offer, it was partially out of charity, partially out of a desire to see talented swordsmen enter the competition, and partially a way to ingratiate himself with the common people. It had not crossed his mind that the simple act would have such far-reaching political implications. He was not displeased, though. This could work in his favor.

“Oh, yes,” Malcius replied. “Some of the nobles are angered, claiming he is presumptuous and impertinent. Only a few are actually speaking out, though, because others have begun preaching of his beneficence. He only made a brief appearance at the pre-trials and already he has quite the following among both commoners and nobles.”

“So, do you think there will be many commoners to take the offer?” Tam asked.

“I doubt it,” Malcius replied. “Most commoners do not have the training or the time to put into becoming a Swordmaster. In addition, the few that do acquire the skills would likely lack the funds or time to travel to the tournament, especially if they did not expect to be able to afford it in the first place. I doubt there are many Fifth Tier quality swordsmen in Skutton, commoner or not…aside from those who came for the competition, that is.”

“Then, the gesture actually accomplishes little,” Tam observed.

Malcius shook his head and said, “It is not about the outcome. It is the principle. The nobles and tournament officials have pushed certain standards, and this Dark Tidings is willing to push back.”

“Perhaps you are looking too deeply,” Drascon remarked. “You do not know the man’s identity. Maybe he is a commoner, himself.”

A round of protests resounded from the young nobles. “There is no way,” Malcius said. “For one, he had too much money, and his clothes were rich. Even the wealthiest craftsmen and merchants could not acquire so much and spend it so frivolously. Besides, he registered at the reserved table where only the highest nobles and foreign emissaries are permitted to register.”

Drascon grunted and said, “But how would they know? He wore the mask. They should not have allowed him to register at that table wearing the mask, anyway. And, maybe it is not his money. Perhaps he is a thief or truly is an assassin. You know nothing about the man except that he is apparently rich and can wield a blade. Everything else is conjecture.”

“There is going to be an immense amount of conjecture by the time the tournament starts. I have no doubt he will have a following of both admirers and enemies,” Malcius responded.

“I want to see this Dark Tidings,” Frisha commented with enthusiasm. “Tam has gone on about the Rez for so many years. If he had you all so convinced, then it’ll be like watching the character come to life in the arena. It would be like falling into that book and becoming part of a different world. Can you imagine?”

The others laughed and Palis said, “If he continues to fight like he did today, I shall have no problem imagining him in those stories.”

Frisha nudged Tam in the arm with her elbow and said, “Why aren’t you more excited? This is like your dream come true.”

Tam could not help that his eyes glanced at Rezkin. It was a bit embarrassing talking about the man in such a way when he was sitting right in front of him. “I am excited. I can’t wait to see him fight. I have no doubt it will be impressive.”

“I want to see that sword,” Brandt remarked. “I could not see much from where we were, but no one could mistake it for any normal sword. I wonder what it is named.”

Rezkin paused in his thoughts. He had not thought to name the sword. He knew that many blades had names – his Sheyalins, for instance. Master swords and enchanted swords often had names, especially if they were somehow unique or special, had been involved in some great battle, or had slain a particularly difficult foe. Rezkin had never given a name to anything until he named his horse. How did one choose a name for a sword?

“What would you call it?” he asked to anyone who might answer.

“Night Stalker,” said Palis.

“Dark Storm,” said Waylen.

“Reaper,” said Malcius.

Brandt shook his head and said, “Only the wielder can name a sword. Only he knows its spirit.”

Rezkin raised a brow and said, “Spirit?”

Brandt shrugged and explained, “So I have read. In some philosophies, special swords, and sometimes other weapons, are believed to hold a spirit within them. When the spirit bonds with the wielder, it whispers its true name.”

Malcius scowled and said, “That is ridiculous. You have been reading fantasies.”

“I have heard of a few cultures that believe in these kinds of spirits. I cannot say that I believe in them, though,” Rezkin remarked.

“Well, we know of the existence of elementals and sprites and sylphs,” Brandt argued. “Why could there not be a spirit in a weapon? The materials come from the earth, after all. Perhaps some type of spirit or elemental accidentally gets trapped inside.”

Rezkin nodded and said, “I concede the point.”

“You actually believe that?” Malcius asked with disdain.

“I did not say I believe him. I merely stated that he has a point. I cannot form a valid argument against such things,” Rezkin replied.

“You are saying that my sword has a spirit trapped inside?” Malcius questioned incredulously.

Brandt rolled his eyes. “Of course not. Not every blade has one. Only special blades have spirits, like the Sheyalins, some of the master swords, and probably the black blade. You saw the utter blackness with that eerie green lightning inside. It is as though you are looking directly into the Afterlife. How can you believe it does not have a spirit, especially knowing it is not enchanted?”

“The Afterlife? Really? Again with the fantasy,” Malcius scoffed.

“However,” Brandt said, raising a finger and ignoring Malcius’s comment, “I have also read that the spirit of the blade does not awaken until it has received a sacrifice. In other words, the sword has to have been used to take a life. After the spirit awakens, it may be named.”

“I think any blade can be named,” said Palis. “Warriors name their weapons all the time. It has nothing to do with spirits.”

“How did you two grow to be such skeptics? I take it you do not believe in sylphs or nixies, either?” Brandt asked.

“Air and water spirits are one thing. People have seen those. We know they exist. Blade spirits are quite another,” Malcius argued.

“The people who own the blades would say otherwise. Are you really willing to believe a miller who claims to have seen a nixie in the river but not a Swordmaster who cuts down every foe?” Brandt responded.

Malcius scowled and replied, “The nixies have been studied by the mages. Books have been written of them. Some mages claim even to be able to call upon them for assistance, assuming the mages survive the encounters.”

“And, so it is with blade spirits,” retorted Brandt.

As the argument continued, Kai and Wesson stepped through the front door. Rezkin nodded to the new arrivals and said, “I am going to order lunch, if anyone cares to join me. Afterward, I have business to which I must attend.

Chapter 19

Rezkin’s business consisted of forming the rest of the plan with the assistance of the two vassals who knew of his identity and the mage. For the next two days, they planned, practiced, trained, and gathered intelligence. Rezkin had little to do with the thieves’ guilds since they appeared to have fallen in line with his orders. It seemed that taking over a kingdom’s worth of criminals was not difficult when they thought their conqueror an actual demon.

On the final eve of registration, Rezkin followed through with his promise. He knew the strikers would be watching for him, so he staked out the area before arriving as Dark Tidings. In all, he found four strikers positioned about the arena watching for his arrival, and no doubt hoping to follow him on his return.

Avoiding the notice of strikers was that for which he had been trained, however, and the dark warrior was able to maneuver around them until he came out into the main square amongst a crowd of people. The entire time he was maneuvering into position, Rezkin remained hunched within his cloak focusing his will to convince those around him that he was just another weary traveler hoping to register for the tournament. The dark warrior was not certain if the strikers were affected by his spell, since he did not know the distance limitations. Wearing a black cloak in late summer was odd behavior, but no one around him seemed to notice, so there was no disruption of traffic and business. As soon as he released his will, people scattered and stopped to gape. Rezkin noticed the striker on the nearest rooftop suddenly perk up as well, which meant the man had probably just taken notice.

The dark warrior marched confidently down the path and past the guards at the portico. It was barely half a mark until the registration ended, and a small crowd had formed to await his arrival. The crowd parted before him, and people gaped and muttered to each other. The nobles were gathered in groups, some in awe, others with haughty arrogance feigning indifference or dismissal. The commoners stood en masse, and a young boy, (or perhaps he was a small-man – Rezkin could not tell the difference), ran off excitedly only to return with four others.

The man at the booth was the same attendant who had previously taken his payment. The man beamed with a broad smile as he greeted the dark warrior. “Welcome back, my lord. Registration is near to closing, and well, some thought you might not return.”

Rezkin inclined his head and said, “I did not wish to conclude my business before everyone had a chance to participate in his or her pre-trial.”

“Yes, of course. I believed as much.” The attendant waved a hand to the side and said, “These are the commoners who have qualified for the Fifth Tier and hoped to partake of your generosity. We had them sent to this booth for your benefit, my lord.”

The blacksmith, Aspion, who Rezkin had already sponsored, was standing next to the new competitors with a grin. Rezkin’s eyes roved over the two new arrivals. They stood anxiously holding their red strips of fabric in firm grips. One was a man of average height in his mid-thirties with wavy, shoulder-length black hair and a thick black mustache. His cheeks were sunken, but not in an unhealthy way. He was all lean muscle. His clothes were plain and worn but clean and tidy. He looked to be a craftsman of some sort.

The man stepped forward with his head held high and said, “Sir, my lord, I am Darius Vaughnright. I’m a saddler by trade, but I’ve been training with the sword since I was a boy. I had not thought to enter the tournament due to the cost; but if I had, I would not have attempted to compete above the Third Tier, maybe the Fourth. I’ve never competed before, you see. But, I heard someone offered to pay the fee for Fifth Tier, so I figured this might be my only chance. It turns out I’m better than I thought.” He finished with a broad grin that slipped as he said, “Ah, I just wanted to thank you, my lord, for your generosity and sponsorship.”

“You are welcome, Master Vaughnright. I look forward to competing with you,” Rezkin said honestly.

The second man stepped forward hesitantly. He was nearly as tall as Rezkin with wavy, caramel colored short hair and amber eyes. He was broad with corded muscle, and his skin was darkened to a golden brown. He was young. Rezkin guessed him to be around twenty-four years of age. The young man kept his eyes lowered out of shyness or deference.

“My lord,” he said softly, as if he was not used to speaking. “I’m Holton of Skutton.” The young man glanced around at the sound of a few snickers from the nobles. A man without even a family name was barely a man at all in their view. “I, ah, live an’ work on a farm on the other side o’ the island. One o’ the men was tradin’ at the market the other day when he heard o’ your offer. I never thought ta compete in the tournament. Thank you, my lord.”

Rezkin inclined his head and said, “You are most welcome, Master Holton. Tell me. How did a farmer become a Swordmaster?”

“Ah, well, my lord, I don’t know that I’m a Master, but I guess I was good enough to get into the Fifth. I, ah, have a friend who was practicin’ his sword when we were boys. He asked me ta practice with him an’ he thought I was a natural. He loaned me a practice sword, and as he learned, he taught me. I practice all the time when I’m not workin’. Eventually, I got better than my friend. I did odd jobs and saved up money ta pay for a few lessons whenever I heard great swordsmen were in town. Most of ‘em were willin’ ta give me a few hours o’ their time when they saw that I was serious,” the young man replied. He constantly shifted with discomfort as he spoke. Rezkin doubted the man had ever been the center of anything, much less a crowd this size, and everyone was hanging on to his every word.

The dark warrior inclined his head to the young swordsman and said, “It will be an honor to compete against such a dedicated swordsman.” Echoes of Rezkin’s words spread quickly through the gathered crowd.

The young man looked up quickly with a smile but shied away when his eyes fell on the empty voids that were Rezkin’s eyes. Rezkin hoped the young farmer had more confidence when he was wielding a blade. The dark wraith turned to the attendant and dropped two saphs on the table. The attendant grinned and made a few marks on his parchment.

“Wait! Wait!” came a feminine shout. A woman was pushing through the crowd from one of the far booths, her hand raised in the air waving a red strip of fabric.

The dark warrior turned and waited for the woman to arrive. Now that Rezkin’s attention was on the commotion, the crowd parted easily before the woman. The first thing Rezkin noticed was her height. She was very tall – taller than many of the men in the crowd. The second feature he noticed was her hair, which was bright orangey-red and pulled back into a thick, intricate braid at the back of her head. She had pale skin and bright green eyes, and every exposed inch of skin was covered in a dusting of freckles. Her smile was brilliant as her pale, green eyes sparkled with excitement.

When she finally cleared the crowd and stood before Rezkin, she lurched to a sudden halt. “Oh! My, you are frightening,” she blurted. The woman’s eyes widened, and she covered her mouth with her hand. “I mean, greetings, my lord,” she said with a graceful curtsy. Her eyes darted to the attendant, and she raised her fisted red fabric. “I got it!” she exclaimed. The man nodded with a smile and made a mark on his parchment.

The woman looked back at Rezkin. “You are the sponsor, I presume? Ah…my lord,” she added belatedly.

Rezkin reached into his pouch and pulled out another saph. He held the coin before her wide eyes and said, “I am,” as he plunked it down on the table.

The woman grinned broadly and said, “Thank you, my lord! This is so exciting. Oh, I am Yserria Rey. My father was the best swordsman I’ve ever seen, but he never had the money or opportunity to compete. He taught me everything I know. He died a few years ago, but I know he would be so proud to see me compete in the Fifth Tier of the King’s Tournament!”

Rezkin inclined his head and said, “I am sorry for your loss, Mistress Rey. I am sure you will be a formidable opponent.”

A mage finished activating the enchantment on the other competitors’ ribbons and came over to do the same for Yserria’s. Rezkin looked around the gathered crowd and noted the disdainful looks of many of the nobles. There was, however, a fairly large group of nobles who were smiling and nodding with approval as they discussed the happenings.

Rezkin’s dark and disturbing enchanted voice rose above the crowd. “Standing here are four commoners who qualified to compete in the Fifth Tier of the King’s Tournament. Four. Four commoners who happened to be in Skutton on this day, who happened to hear of my offer of sponsorship, and who managed to set aside the time from their daily responsibilities to be here to compete. These men and woman lack the luxury of days spent in practice without chores, they lacked the luxury of expensive tutors and the guidance of Swordmasters. They likely lacked the support of friends and family who thought they should be doing something more productive,” he said, looking back at the competitors. They nodded their heads and chuckled. “Four,” he repeated. “I think perhaps the Kingdom of Ashai has underestimated the Skills of its common folk.”

A chorus of chatter went through the crowd, and Rezkin strode out of the registration area and through the portico. Three men followed the dark warrior from the building. He recognized two of them as the strikers he had evaded on the day he registered, but the third was new to him. Rezkin had planned ahead, though.

He turned down the first alley, grabbing an empty pack he had stowed as he passed. He did not have time to stop and change so he had to do so as he went. More importantly, he had to stay just out of sight until the change was complete or the strikers would catch on to the deception. Luckily for him, most of the alleys and streets were lined with the colored awnings, so tracking someone from the rooftops was more difficult than it might have been in some other city.

When he rounded the next corner, he whipped off his cloak, rolled it up and stuffed it in the sack. He began unclipping the braids and tossing them in, as well. He could hear the strikers converging on him from two different directions. He swung himself up onto a second floor balcony rail and ducked in through an open door. An old woman with cloudy white eyes wrapped in a long shawl sat in a chair beside the door. The dark warrior slipped past her into the adjoining room. Sounds of cooking came from elsewhere in the flat. The warrior quickly pulled off his tabard and armor and stuffed them, too, into the sack. Opening the front door, he made sure to keep his silence and checked that he was not seen.

The warrior stepped into an open stairwell, but he stuck to the shadows as he ascended and unclipped hair braids at the same time. The stairwell ended at the next landing, but it was still open, and the adjacent building was less than five feet away. Rezkin surveyed the alley and roofs around him and then quickly took a running leap, tossing the pack ahead of him and rolling as he landed. He dashed down a corridor passing a couple of children playing with a crying baby outside of their flat. As he passed, he impressed his will on the young, impressionable minds that he was unimportant and need not be remembered. The children took little notice of him.

When he reached the end of the corridor, he dropped onto the lower roof of a tiny building that had been erected between two larger ones. He pulled a second pack from beneath the eave and then dropped through a gap between the building and an awning to the ground behind the structure. The warrior quickly shed his black shirt and drew out a beige linen shirt as a replacement. He sloughed his boots, drew a loose pair of brown pants over his black breeches, and then pulled his boots back on, leaving the pants on the outside.

Rezkin dashed between awnings as he plucked the last of the braids from his hair. He gathered his natural black locks into a queue and donned a floppy, wide-brimmed hat he had stowed in the second pack. Everything was then stuffed into one pack, which he strapped to his back, and the only item left to identify him was the sword. He skirted a corner onto a narrow street and was forced to dash behind a stack of crates as a striker rounded an opposite corner a few alleys away. Rezkin had stashed his sword’s disguise in the next alley that lay halfway between himself and the striker. The warrior waited several moments as the striker glanced down each alley and under every awning.

The striker was nearing Rezkin’s position, and instead of backtracking, the young warrior decided to play to his disguise. He removed his sword harness and stashed the weapon behind the crates. He tossed down his pack and sprawled across it on the ground. He pulled his hat over his face to appear as if sleeping. As the striker neared and turned his attention to the man lying on the ground, Rezkin pressed his will on the elite warrior to accept him as a homeless vagrant. The vagabond scratched at his crotch and snorted loudly as he shifted into a “more comfortable” position. As the striker made to pass, Rezkin’s foot “accidentally” fell in the man’s way, tripping him and inciting a harsh kick from the irritated man. Rezkin grunted and mumbled something incoherent before feigning slumber once again.

“Damned vagrants,” the striker mumbled as he continued down the street.

Rezkin waited a few moments after the man turned a corner, and then quickly leapt to his feet. The warrior ducked down the alley where he stored a bulky fishing net and a number of long, thin staves of the kind the island folk used for fishing. He rolled his black sword in the net and then strapped the staves around it. The warrior lugged the cargo over his shoulders above the pack and hunched as if crippled by his burden. Finally, he made his way back toward his inn.

As he walked, Rezkin decided he was going to have to come up with a better way of evading the strikers. Spending an hour each night simply attempting to lose them would be too burdensome. He pondered his options until he reached the inn. Some of his disguise materials were stowed in the bottom of the trunk in Pride’s stall in the stables. The battle charger was better than any guard dog. The beast would allow no one but Rezkin to enter his stall.

The warrior ran the horse in the small corral next to the stables and then tended to his feeding and grooming. It would normally be considered unseemly for a lord to be mucking his horse’s stall, but practicality won out where battle chargers were concerned. Unless a rider had someone on retainer who was experienced with the beasts, like the general’s stable master, the rider had to tend to his own mount. It was simply an accepted fact. There was a price for everything, and the privilege of owning one of the finest warhorses in all of the kingdoms was no exception.

With his black tunic bundled beneath his arm for washing, Rezkin entered the inn through the back door. He skipped quickly up the stairs, washed, and changed into more appropriate “noble” attire. It was well past the dinner hour when Rezkin finally made it to the common room. Frisha was sitting with Tam, Reaylin and Jimson at a table near the hearth. The young lady smiled happily at his arrival and said, “Oh, Rezkin, you missed dinner. We have already eaten, but feel free to do so, now, if you have not already.”

Rezkin bowed slightly in greeting and thanked his friends for allowing him to join them. Almost before he could sit down, two women were hovering over the young man asking if he wanted a meal or drink. The famished warrior took them up on the offer and pretty soon had a heaping plate of pan fried fish, glazed pork, roasted potatoes and steamed vegetables.

Tam furrowed his brow and mumbled, “That isn’t what they served me.”

Reaylin took a swig of ale before remarking, “That is one of the privileges of being the finest man at the inn, probably the whole island.” The tiny woman’s eyes popped wide as she covered her mouth and feigned surprise, “Oh, my, did I say that out loud?” Frisha scowled at the young woman, Jimson shifted uncomfortably and found sudden interest in the wood grain of the table, and Rezkin simply ignored the comment.

“Reaylin, when are you competing?” the warrior asked.

The young woman shrugged and said, “The actual matchups will not be posted until tomorrow. First and Second Tiers will be competing in the second arena, the smaller one. There are so many competitors that, for the first matches, both tiers are competing at the same time at different ends of the arena, with two matches each. I’m in the First Tier, of course. They gave us each a pre-trial score between one and five, five being the highest. I got a three, so I’m about midway through.”

“And you, Jimson?” Rezkin inquired.

“The Third Tier begins on the second day in the first arena. Thanks to your tutelage, I scored a four in the Third Tier pre-trials, so I will not be competing until later in the afternoon,” Jimson explained.

“That’s excellent!” Frisha exclaimed happily. “That means we will have the opportunity to watch both of you. Does anyone know when the others are competing?”

“I think you can ask them, yourself. Here they come, now,” Tam replied.

Malcius, Palis, Brandt and Tieran, followed by their guards, had just entered the inn and were heading in their direction. Shiela followed behind with her nose in the air. The woman was decked out in even more lace and frills than usual. Rezkin was not sure any of the material of her gown was not made of lace.

It was late enough, now, that few tables were occupied. Most patrons had either retired to the lounge for more comfort or headed out to a more lively tavern scene. The four nobles took seats at an adjacent table and began talking excitedly. Shiela looked around at the group and the plain wooden tables and chairs and sniffed haughtily.

“I do not know why we have to come here. We could have stayed at our inn,” Shiela complained.

Malcius frowned and replied, “What are you complaining about now? The two inns are nearly identical, Shiela.”

“At least our inn has chairs with padded seats,” she whined.

“What difference does it make?” the eldest Jebai exclaimed in exasperation. “Your dress is about twenty layers thick! You come with your own padding. Besides, is your derriere so sensitive that you can no longer sit in a normal chair?”

“Malcius Jebai! I would not have you speak of my…Gah!” she gasped in indignation. “I am going to the lounge where civilized people congregate. At least they should be serving decent wine,” the young woman remarked as she strode away.

“Maybe she will drink enough wine to become tolerable,” Malcius mumbled under his breath. “If you thought she was bad on the ship, you should see her since we arrived here. You would think she was suddenly taking tea with the queen for all her self-importance.”

The others chuckled as they ordered wine and ale from one of the serving women.

“He showed up!” announced Palis.

“Of course he showed up,” Malcius said. “He said he would. It would be embarrassing to make such a promise and not show.”

“Who?” Frisha asked with wide eyes.

“Dark Tidings, of course,” Palis replied. “He returned to make good on his promise to sponsor Fifth Tier commoners. Can you believe that, with only two days notice, there were actually four of them?”

Reaylin scowled and muttered, “It’s not like commoners are all incompetent, you know.” Malcius’s brow rose as he looked at the young woman. “My lord,” she added belatedly.

The young noble replied, “It is not about competence, at least not completely. Skutton is a large city, for sure, but it is amazing to find four unknown potential Swordmasters in one city, regardless of class. You might be interested to hear that one of them is a woman.”

The young woman perked up. “Really? What is she like?”

Palis smiled wide. “She is absolutely stunning! She is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.”

Frisha was overcome with the irony of the circumstance as she started giggling hysterically. “The absolute…most beautiful woman…you have ever seen…is a commoner from Skutton…who carries a sword?”

Palis flushed and Malcius smiled as he said, “Yes, my little brother is completely besotted with the woman. I think that if marriages were arranged on looks alone, I would be calling her sister.”

The young man’s flush deepened, but he said, “Can you blame me? She is gorgeous. With her red hair and green eyes, she is like the sun setting over the ocean.” Palis’s eyes were distant as he mumbled, “Green silk. She would be stunning in a green silk gown to match her eyes.”

Brandt snorted and said, “My friend, I did not know you to be a poet. I doubt that woman has worn many a gown. She looks more comfortable in her armor than a soldier.”

“I must meet her,” Palis declared. “I must do so before she competes or I will never have a chance against all her admirers.”

“A chance at what?” Malcius queried. “Will you court her? Marry her? A commoner?”

Palis lifted his chin and said, “So what if I do? I will not inherit, and once father sees her, he will not begrudge the match. Besides, she is a Fifth Tier competitor. She will earn fame and renown in her own right, commoner or not. Nobles have taken commoner brides in the past, especially if the woman is particularly impressive.”

Malcius furrowed his brow. “I am not certain that father would be so accommodating,” he said as his eyes darted to Tieran uncomfortably, “especially with the ill regard our sister is sure to bring upon the house.”

“Wait, I thought you nobles looked down on women carrying swords,” Reaylin challenged.

Brandt chuckled and said, “You know Palis is obsessed over all things sword related. It is no surprise he would want a woman who comes with one as well.”

Palis’s face flamed as he said, “I…ah…actually find it to be rather enticing.”

Captain Jimson nodded and said, “I agree.”

Reaylin fluttered her lashes at Rezkin and asked, “What do you think, Rezkin?”

Rezkin shrugged and replied, “I think everyone, man or woman, should know how to defend him-or herself with at least one weapon. If it is a sword, so be it.”

“Do you not find it enticing, then?” the young woman pressed.

“It is practical,” the warrior responded.

Reaylin’s lip protruded in a pout, and then she asked, “So what do you find enticing?”

Rezkin looked up thoughtfully, and then his eyes fell on Frisha. He remembered the odd feeling he got when he watched the sway of her hips. Frisha’s face blushed furiously under Rezkin’s absent gaze. It was obvious he was thinking of her. Just as he opened his mouth to speak, Frisha covered it with her hand. Rezkin was surprised that he felt only the slightest inclination to flinch away or defend himself.

“You should not ask him such questions,” Frisha scolded. “He is sometimes too honest for his own good. He will feel inclined to answer.” Frisha was remembering their slightly inappropriate conversation about women’s dresses and the attributes they emphasized.

Rezkin took Frisha’s hand from his mouth and held it in his. “I do not think it so inappropriate to say that I find you enticing, Frisha,” the warrior replied. Frisha smiled coyly, and everyone but Reaylin was happy to witness the sincere moment.

Jimson envied Rezkin’s way with words – and his way with women. No matter how many times the captain tried to woo Reaylin, the woman still only had eyes for his friend. Jimson had not been completely forward about his interest, since he knew Reaylin would not yet be receptive to his attentions. He resolved to continue to wait patiently for her infatuation to pass.

It turned out that Malcius and Brandt both scored highly in the second tier pre-trials and were assigned matches in the afternoon of the first day. Palis was competing in the same round as Jimson in the Third Tier, but luckily they were not pitted against each other in the first matches. In the initial matches, competitors rotated against opponents, so they had the opportunity to fight three duels before the first scoring. Only half of the competitors, the half with the lowest scores at the scoring, continued on to the second round where the process would be repeated.

Organizers had arranged the schedule so that no other duels were occurring during the final matches of any of the tiers so everyone could play witness. Additionally, no matches were scheduled during the Melee competition, which began on the afternoon of the third day, since many of the competitors were also competing in the tiers. Most felt the Melee competition would grow in popularity as news of its existence spread. It was likely to attract many competitors who had no interest in dueling.

The First and Second Tier finals were to be held on the afternoon of the fourth day, the Rapier finals were on the morning of the fifth day, and Third Tier finals were on the afternoon of the sixth. Fifth Tier did not begin until the sixth day, since most spectators and the other competitors desired to watch the Swordmaster duels. The Melee and Fourth and Fifth Tier finals were to be held on the seventh, and last, day of the tournament.

For Rezkin, winning the tournament was of no consequence. It was only a means to an end. For his companions, though, this was the spectacle for which they had worked tirelessly to prepare; and for some of them, it could be their only chance at competing. Reaylin, for example, had to pay ten gold just to enter the First Tier, and that did not take into account the cost of travel, lodging, food and other expenses. The woman had lucked out in being able to share a room with Frisha at the general’s expense. Rezkin did not know what the young woman did for money, but he wondered if she might be sleeping in the streets, otherwise. Now that she was bound to him by oath of fealty, he felt responsible for her wellbeing.

While many lords felt that a promise of providing response in the event of foreign invasion was sufficient to satisfy their liege oaths of protection and sanctuary, Rezkin believed the sentiment to extend to all manner of basic necessities. So long as his vassals continued to serve in whatever manner he required, he was responsible for ensuring they were fed, clothed, and housed. In Reaylin’s case, what he desired of her was something she had clearly stated numerous times was something she did not wish to give. While he had little need of her as a warrior, he felt obliged to see to her martial training and preparation in exchange for her continued training as a healer. As her liege, it was not something required of him. He could simply order her to abandon her dreams of becoming a warrior and become a healer instead, but that was not his way.

The following morning, the competitors regrouped in the stable yard for practice. Rezkin paid particular attention to Reaylin, Malcius and Brandt since they would be competing on the first day, which was scheduled to begin the following morning. A couple of other competitors who were staying at the Coral Cove saw the group practicing and asked to join. One of the competitors was competing in the Second Tier with Malcius and Brandt, while the other was in the Fourth Tier. Practicing against new opponents was excellent preparation for the tournament duels.

Around noon, the group broke for the midday meal. Rezkin and his companions were just finishing a succulent feast of glazed fish with rice and vegetables when Hilith Gadderand sauntered into the inn. The woman’s dress was resplendent, as usual, although it was odd for an inn, even one as nice as theirs. She looked liked she should have been pandering to the fops at court. Frisha scowled as her eyes landed on the woman.

Rezkin was in conversation with Malcius when Frisha nudged his arm. “Your new lady friend is here,” she said through gritted teeth.

The young warrior smiled upon seeing the ambitious thief. “Frisha, that is not a friend. That is a desperate woman seeking to make an alliance.”

Frisha frowned. “What kind of alliance?”

Somehow, Rezkin did not think telling Frisha that the woman was a fraud and thief seeking to keep her life by working her way into the good graces of the notorious criminal overlord, The Raven, would go over too well with his Girl Friend. Instead he said, “Her husband is dead. She seeks to keep the House profitable.”

“And for some reason she needs you to do that?” Frisha asked with disdain. Rezkin was saved from answering when Hilith approached the table.

The young warrior stood and greeted the lady appropriately. “Lady Gadderand, welcome. I see you made it to Skutton. I hope you had a pleasant trip.

In fact, Hilith had not had a pleasant trip. The voyage on the sea was so much worse than the one down the river, and that one had been terrible. She also had the problem of the meager funds The Raven had allotted her for travel. Traveling as a proper lady was impossible, so she had to procure funds in other ways.

Hilith smiled agreeably and replied, “Yes, Lord Rezkin. It was my first voyage on the sea, and I found it to be quite lovely.”

“Oh? A number of my companions discovered that the Souelian did not sit well with their stomachs. I am glad to hear that you did not suffer their misfortune,” Rezkin replied. “It is remarkable that you were able to find us in this bustling city, though. Please tell me you did not strain yourself in the effort.

“No, no, nothing so dramatic. It was happenstance, really. I thought a friend of mine was staying here, but it seems I was mistaken. The Maker must favor me to have landed me in your illustrious presence once again, Lord Rezkin,” the woman remarked.

In actuality, ever since Hilith stepped off that vile vessel and set foot on the blessed ground, she had been searching for Lord Rezkin and his companions. This was only one of nearly a dozen such establishments she had visited. The woman had begun to worry that the man had been fostered on a private estate, seeing as how he was so successful.

“I am glad to hear it,” the handsome lord replied.

“Thank you. It is surely a sign that our business together is favored, as well,” the woman pressed.

“Perhaps…” Rezkin started to say when he was interrupted by the arrival of a young messenger. The young man could not have been more than fourteen years of age and wore the black and yellow tabard of Duke Ytrevius. After glancing around, he immediately approached Rezkin and bowed deeply.

“Lord Rezkin, Lord Tieran summons you to attend him at the estate of Duke Ytrevius at your earliest convenience,” the young messenger stated succinctly.

Rezkin sipped from his goblet and sat back casually as though being summoned to one duke’s estate by the heir of another duke was inconsequential. “Did Lord Tieran mention why he was summoning me?” he asked.

“No, my lord,” the messenger replied uncomfortably. Rezkin continued to stare at the young man as though waiting for an answer, despite the fact that the messenger had already given one. The messenger shifted awkwardly, and his eyes darted around at the curious stares of the others. Finally, he said, “Ah, my lord, Lord Tieran did not state a reason, but I got the impression it may have something to do with the tournament.”

“Of course. We have been training together for some time. Please inform him that I will arrive within the hour,” Rezkin said imperiously.

The messenger smiled slightly as his shoulders relaxed. He bowed once again and said, “Yes, my lord,” before he scampered out the door.

Frisha nudged Rezkin in the arm and asked, “Why did you press him like that? He obviously didn’t know anything. You only made him nervous.”

“I was not seeking what he knew,” Rezkin explained. “I was seeking what he thought he knew. I have no doubt that Duke Ytrevius is monitoring all of Tieran’s correspondence. Whatever Tieran wants, the duke will believe it has something to do with the tournament after that young man returns with his report.”

Frisha’s brow furrowed, and she said, “But what is the point? It probably is about the tournament.”

Rezkin shrugged. “It is as useful to know what others believe is happening as it is to know what is actually happening.”

Hilith was impressed. The young lord was more cunning than she originally thought. She supposed she should not have been surprised since he was such a successful businessman, but she had assumed that his family had assisted him in his financial endeavors. Now, she was not so sure. Surely The Raven would not scorn her for pursuing a more permanent relationship with the devastatingly handsome, young, rich lord. Her master might even applaud her ambition and dedication to his cause.

Frisha pondered Rezkin’s assertion for a moment and then remarked, “My father mentioned something similar one time when he was talking about getting the best deals. He said that if people believe an item is difficult to acquire or that it is going to be in limited supply, you could make a much higher profit, even if it wasn’t true. He said it was an underhanded tactic called…um…the Meager Principal or something like that.”

“The Meagran Principal,” Rezkin corrected. “It is employed to some extent by almost every businessman, whether craftsman, merchant, or lord and applies whether the seller is truthful about the product’s availability or not.”

Blinking several times in surprise, Frisha said, “I didn’t know you were so knowledgeable about trade, though I should have since you said you have business all over Ashai.”

“It was one of the Skills I was required to master,” Rezkin replied as he stood.

“Really?” Frisha exclaimed with an excited grin. “My father will be so pleased!”

Rezkin turned to Hilith and said, “Lady Gadderand, would you be so kind as to excuse us. It seems I am summoned to the duke’s estate. Perhaps we may meet another time.”

“Yes, I understand, Lord Rezkin. I will make myself available any time you wish,” the woman replied with a sultry smile. She stroked a wandering finger down the handsome lord’s doublet and said, “If you find yourself in need of anything, you may send for me at the Rose and Thorn Inn.” With one last perusal, Hilith turned and sashayed out the door.

Frisha was furious once again that the woman would be so forward, but none of the lady’s efforts seemed to have the slightest effect on Rezkin. The young woman was attempting to cool her temper when a thought crossed her mind. “Rezkin, when you say ‘master,’ you don’t actually mean Master, do you?”

Rezkin cocked his head as he looked at her curiously. “Yes, what else could it mean?”

“It’s just that…well, you said you are a Master Healer of the Mundane and…” she glanced around and lowered her voice, “you are a Dual-Blade Swordmaster. You are only nineteen years old. How could you possibly have mastered those skills and be a Master Merchant?”

Malcius, Palis and Brandt leaned in with interest and not a small amount of disbelief and suspicion. Understanding Frisha’s source of confusion, the warrior shrugged off her concerns.

“It is not a big deal. You people,” Rezkin said as he gestured to include all in the room, “spend much of your time engaging in entertainment, conversation, relaxing or other non-productive activities. I, however, had not an idle moment. Every second of every day and night since infancy was planned, scheduled, and accounted for in training and education. It was highly efficient.”

“But, a person can only fit so much information into his mind at once,” Frisha protested.

Rezkin’s brow rose. “Are you certain of that? What is the limit?”

“Well, I don’t know,” she replied uncertainly.

The warrior shrugged and announced, “I must be off.”

Malcius straightened and inquired, “You are going to Duke Ytrevius’s estate, then? Perhaps I could accompany you? He has five daughters, you know. My father would approve of me paying our respects on behalf of the family.”

Rezkin pondered the proposal for a moment and then shook his head. “No, I think it would be best if I went alone this time. Tieran’s summons has filled me with unease.”

“You think some danger could be involved?” Malcius asked with surprise. “That is all the more reason to desire accompaniment, is it not?”

“I doubt there is any danger,” Rezkin bluffed. “It could simply be that Tieran wants last minute pointers before the competition, but it is equally likely some political intrigue is afoot. Until I know which way the cart will roll, it is probably best you keep your distance. I would not wish for your efforts to result in backlash.”

“Oh, I see your point. Good call,” Malcius replied with a nod.

“I assume you and Palis will perform your duty as Frisha’s escorts, then?” Rezkin asked as a reminder.

“Yes, of course,” Malcius assured him. “My dear cousin will be safe. A pre-tournament festival is to be held in the square. We shall partake of the festivities.”

The warrior grunted and replied, “Do not partake too fervently. You do have to compete on the morrow.”

The group was laughing and jesting with each other as Rezkin left the common room. He quickly changed into a doublet and breeches and donned his high, polished boots before stepping from the dark inn out into the sun. The warrior saddled his stallion and then rode in a circuitous route to the duke’s estate. The trip took twice as long as was necessary, but he wanted to give the horse some exercise. It also gave the warrior the opportunity to observe some of the newest city guard routes and posts. The assignments and schedules had been changing almost daily as the city was inundated with visitors from near and far.

The regular city guard would have been ridiculously insufficient to contend with the crowd, and while the king had assigned a framework of regular army to provide some security, the bulk of the forces were “donated” by each of the four dukes. Squads of Ytrevius’s black and yellow, Darning’s red and white, Atressian’s blue and silver and Wellinven’s green and gold patrolled various districts on a rotating schedule.

As Rezkin approached the sprawling estate on the hillside, a four-man patrol of Ytrevius’s House Guard flanked the warrior.

“Halt! Who approaches the duke’s estate?” the lead guard called.

Rezkin drew Pride to a halt, but the irritable battle charger continued to stomp and snort at the riders surrounding him. After a quick perusal of his detainers, Rezkin concluded that these were the type of men who had been trained to have certain expectations of a noble lord. Anything deviating from that expectation would give them pause.

The warrior plastered on a look of boredom, blatantly examined the liveried soldiers, and then sniffed in disdain, having found them lacking. “Escort me to the mansion. I have business with Lord Nirius, and I do not care to bake in this gods forsaken sun all day.”

The soldiers glanced at each other, and the lead guard asked, “You would be Lord Rezkin, then?”

Rezkin scowled at the man and said, “Of course, I am. Who else would I be?” He pulled a silk kerchief from his sleeve and dabbed at his forehead. After taking in their questioning stares, the young nobleman sighed heavily and said, “What is it now? Must we sit here all day?”

The lead guard shifted uncomfortably and glanced around the relatively open clearing. “Ah, my lord, where is your escort?”

Rezkin looked at the man with bewilderment. He chuckled and then outright laughed. “Escort? Me? What need have I of an escort?” he asked arrogantly as he directed his hands at his own torso and then at the two blades strapped to his hips. He waved a dismissive hand in the air and said, “I left them with my future bride. She needs them far more than I, obviously.” One of the guards, who thought he was out of Rezkin’s sight, rolled his eyes, and another not so subtly coughed into his hand.

“Yes, I see,” the lead guard replied, doing a decent job of keeping the scorn from his voice. “If I may, my lord, I would suggest keeping at least a retainer or two with you at all times. The island is crawling with foreigners and rats who would prey on innocent travelers.”

The nobleman scoffed and said, “That is what you are for, is it not?”

The man bowed in his saddle and said, “Of course, my lord. We shall endeavor to keep you safe. If you would come with us, then, we shall escort you to the mansion.”

Rezkin rode along, maintaining his haughtiness as a disguise, acting as though he was either oblivious to the nature of the threats around him or truly believed he was capable of fending for himself. He caught one of the duke’s men, an older man, staring at his horse and then examining the shortsword sheathed at his right side. The man was more observant than his comrades. These were obviously not the duke’s best men who were assigned to patrol the outer grounds, although it was safe to assume they were all decent swordsmen if they were employed by the duke.

The warrior caught the man’s eye and grinned mischievously. The guard’s eyes widened and darted around at his companions. They had completely missed the simple exchange, and when the older man looked back, Rezkin was once again staring ahead in boredom. For the rest of the ride, the man refused to take his eyes off Rezkin for a moment.

Once they entered the paddock within the walls, Rezkin dismounted and a gangly young man of about fifteen approached, cautiously eyeing the massive mount. The young man bowed and bobbed his head as he said, “May I take your horse, my lord?”

Rezkin looked at the young man dubiously, but before he could say anything, a man of about thirty came loping up with a slight limp as he hollered, “Whoa, whoa, whoa, Jeriah. I’ve got this one.” The man bowed to the lord and said, “My lord, I am Stable Master Grey. I am capable of handling your battle charger.”

The guards’ eyes widened and darted back to the horse. “Wait, that is an actual battle charger?” the one who had rolled his eyes exclaimed.

“Well met, Master Grey,” Rezkin directed at the stable master. “I am Rezkin,” he said as he handed the reins over to the man. As the stable master led the horse away, he turned to the guard who had been observing him on the ride and asked, “What is your name, guardsman?”

The older man cleared his throat and said, “Mrikson, my lord.”

“Are you a mage, Guardsman Mrikson?” Rezkin asked curiously.

“Ah, yes, my lord. I have the talent. I am an aquian elemental, but my ratio is off, so I cannot do much with it,” the guardsman replied. Cautiously he said, “I have not used any power since we met. Did you sense me?”

Rezkin waved a hand and said, “No, no, I do not possess the talent. I was only curious because you seem to be a bit more observant than your comrades.” The other soldiers gave each other questioning glances, having no idea to what the nobleman was referring. Mrikson eyed Rezkin curiously and then nodded acceptance.

At that moment, a young page, no older than ten, approached and performed a perfectly practiced bow. “My lord, please allow me to escort you to the manor,” the young one intoned in a small, high voice that belied the seriousness of his position.

Perhaps this one is actually a small-man, Rezkin thought to himself. Logically, he knew the difference. Children were weaker and smaller than adults and needed to be nurtured and coddled. They had games that were designed for enjoyment, rather than strategy simulation, and required leniency so that they could develop into a healthy physical and mental state. At least, that was essentially what he had gathered from Frisha when she was arguing against child labor at ages younger than twelve. Rezkin knew from his own experience, though, that small-men looked much like children, but they were simply men who were ignorant, unskilled, and physically immature. The way a small-man grew was to learn the Rules and master the Skills. Only then could he truly be considered a big-man. Still, Rezkin could not tell the difference between a small-man and a child except in the way it was treated or how it acted. He had yet to find any true small-men in the outworld.

The page led Rezkin into the manor house and through a series of corridors, up a flight of stairs, and down additional corridors. The warrior did not truly need the page’s guidance, except to know where Tieran was located, since he had been required to memorize the layouts of the estates of the highest-ranking nobles in addition to the major city buildings. It was the page’s job to make sure Rezkin did not wander where he did not belong and to report back to his master about anything unusual concerning their visitor. It certainly would have been considered unusual if Rezkin, having never been there before, somehow knew the entire layout of the mansion.

As they walked into a brightly lit sitting room, Tieran jumped to his feet and excitedly rushed toward him. Rezkin’s first instinct was to fend off the attacker, but he recognized no other signs that Tieran held ill intent. The young lord grasped Rezkin’s hand and pulled him into an embrace in an unusual show of camaraderie as he said, “Rezkin, my dear friend! It is good to see you. I am so glad you could make it for our sparring session.” Tieran’s smile and joyful demeanor appeared genuine, but his eyes held a pleading tension. Rezkin did a quick assessment of the three other people in the room and then smiled happily in return.

“Of course, Tieran. I would not miss it. When you win the rapier division tournament, I will have the honor of bragging that I had been your sparring partner before the feat,” Rezkin replied with saccharine flattery.

Tieran barked a laugh and left one arm hanging over Rezkin’s shoulders as he led the warrior further into the room. His casual bearing gave the appearance of an age-old friendship unhindered by politics or pretense. “Oh, come now, Rez. Everyone knows that having already developed mastery over your own blades, you deigned to come off your pedestal to train your struggling, but ridiculously dashing, childhood friend, Tieran.” The warrior lifted a brow, and for a moment, Tieran thought Rezkin would refute the blatant misrepresentation. The fact that Tieran had revealed his sword mastery led Rezkin to believe the situation more dangerous than it appeared.

“You? Dashing?” Rezkin scoffed. “There is more dashing in my little finger than in your entire bearing, Tieran,” Rezkin replied, needlessly straightening his doublet. The two young ladies lounging on the settee giggled behind fluttering fans.

Tieran gave Rezkin a dramatically calculating look. Satisfied the warrior would go along with the ploy, he said, “Yes, well, it would be cruel to hold others to your high standard, since it is inhuman and unachievable.”

“Are you calling me a god?” Rezkin asked with a devilish grin.

The nobleman scoffed. “Not likely – more like demon,” he muttered. The ladies giggled again.

“Will you not introduce us, Tieran?” the younger of the two asked with feigned bashfulness.

“Yes,” the young man sitting across from them interjected as he stood. “We should all like to meet this infamous guest of yours.”

“Infamous?” Rezkin inquired, looking at Tieran questioningly. “Just what have you been telling them about me?”

“Oh, nothing as interesting as all that,” Tieran said cryptically. “I might have mentioned a few incidences of bandits and a corrupt magistrate or something of the sort.”

“There is more?” asked the elder of the two ladies. She appeared to be about Rezkin’s age and wore her auburn hair in a loose bun with only a few stray curls framing her face. She wore in a voluminous white dress with blue trim and held herself with perfect poise. “We simply must hear the rest of it.”

Tieran waved a hand and said, “Ah, childhood antics mostly, and we simply must not speak of that business with the king.”

“The king? What business is that?” the young lady asked, thoroughly intrigued.

“Nothing of import,” Rezkin replied as he bowed to the duke’s daughter. “Allow me to introduce myself, since Tieran has forgotten his manners. I am Rezkin, my lady, and it is pleasure to meet you.” He placed a soft kiss upon her hand and said, “You must be Lady Safrina. You have blossomed into a lovely flower.”

Safrina blushed and was suddenly at a loss for words. Rezkin repeated the performance with the younger sister, Lady Geila, who was about sixteen and had perfectly curled chocolate locks tied with pink bows that matched her gown. The young warrior straightened and turned to the unknown man who stood several inches shorter than he. The man had thick, brown hair cropped shorter than was the style amongst the nobles but was certainly longer than that of many of the soldiers Rezkin had met. He had a crooked nose and broad jaw, and his eyes held constant menace. The man was about twenty-four, closer to Tieran’s age, and he appeared to be quite irritated.

Tieran finally stepped forward and said, “This is Lord Hespion, the youngest son of Duke Atressian.”

“Ah, yes, it is good to see you, Lord Hespion,” Rezkin remarked as he greeted the man.

“I apologize. Have we met before? I do not recall your House…” Hespion replied as he let the statement hang.

“Oh, not that you would recall, I am sure.” Rezkin replied. In fact, they had never met, but Hespion did not need to know that. “I do hope your brother’s business in Justain concluded to his satisfaction,” Rezkin remarked offhandedly to divert the attention away from the subject of his House.

Hespion’s eyes widened, and he said, “You met with Fierdon in Justain?”

Rezkin waved a hand in the air and said, “No, no, no. I was far too busy for that nonsense. I trust he could take care of things himself.”

In truth, Rezkin had no idea what Fierdon had been doing in Justain. He could only guess at what deals had been made by the names that were listed on the travel logs he had painstakingly pored over when looking for Farson. He might have taken more time to investigate the matter had he known he would now be embroiled in kingdomwide conspiracies and whatever trouble Tieran had gotten into at the duke’s mansion.

Hespion looked at Rezkin suspiciously as he said, “Yes, I believe some progress was made.”

The warrior suddenly felt the tingle of magic directed toward him, and he double-checked his focus shields. Contrary to popular belief, it was possible for a mundane to shield himself from intrusive magic simply by concentrating on keeping the power from reaching him. It was a technique that had been drilled into Rezkin from a young age. The masters and strikers who had the talent would bombard him with random mage attacks, most of which were highly unpleasant if they got through his focus shields. Rezkin simply smiled politely as he met Hespion’s astonished eyes. Whatever Hespion had attempted had fallen flat, and he knew that Rezkin was not only aware of the attempt but was the reason for its failure.

Tieran, having sensed the power, scowled at Hespion. It was considered beyond rude for a guest to use power on another guest without permission, and it was obvious from his attempt at subtly that it was not of a friendly nature. Gripping Rezkin’s elbow, Tieran said, “Come, Rezkin. I think it is time we get to our practice.”

As the two turned to leave, Rezkin kept Hespion in his peripheral view. He noted the girls’ wide-eyed glances between him and Duke Atressian’s youngest son. They, too, had felt the exchange. In their society, Rezkin had sufficient cause to call Hespion out for the attempt. Any nobleman would have been within his rights to challenge Hespion to a duel, even to the death. Since Tieran had already announced Rezkin’s sword mastery, it was not difficult to guess who would win. Hespion was registered in only the Second Tier of the tournament, which meant he would be competing against Malcius and Brandt.

As they walked down the corridor, Tieran blurted, “How did you know? And, how did you block it?”

Rezkin raised a hand to silence Tieran as he led the way to the practice courtyard. Tieran’s eyes widened when he, too, felt the tingling of magic around them. “He just does not learn!” the young nobleman shouted. “You should call him out!”

Rezkin raised a brow and replied, “The guest of a duke’s heir kills a second duke’s son in a third duke’s manor. That does not bode well, whether it was justified or not.”

Tieran swallowed and said, “You would not have to kill him.”

“His knowledge of my Skills serves as warning enough. If I draw these swords on him, he is dead,” Rezkin replied. The tingling sensation cut off abruptly.

Tieran glanced back the way they had come in surprise. “Where are we going?” he asked.

“To the training grounds, of course,” Rezkin replied.

“But, how do you know where…” Tieran shook his head. “Never mind. I have something important to discuss with you,” he said in a low voice.

“I figured, but the pretense is that I am here to spar, so we must spar,” Rezkin replied.

The nobleman nodded and continued walking. The two entered the courtyard, which was located in an opening in the center of the mansion. The floor was packed dirt, and the ceiling was absent so the courtyard was open to the sky. It was outlined by a low stone wall that separated it from a first floor walkway, and a second floor balcony ran around its perimeter. Beneath the walkway, to one side, stood a weapons cabinet. Aside from a few small creeping vines growing up the columns, the yard was otherwise empty. Rezkin and Tieran approached the cabinet as a broad but stout man poked his head around a corner.

“I suppose I shall practice with my own blade today, since I will be competing in the morning,” Tieran remarked. The young nobleman pointed to a rapier with a silver wire wrapped grip and said, “That is the one with which I usually practice against the dummies so as not to dull my blade. It is decently balanced.”

The warrior examined the weapon carefully as he reached for it and noticed something odd. Just as he was about to grasp the sword, the small, heavy man came bounding up to him. “Oh, my lord, please let me find you a different weapon. This one is um…bent. Yes, it, ah, was bent in practice earlier, and I forgot to take it to the swordsmith.

Swiftly plucking the tiny needle from the grip, Rezkin grasped the hilt and hefted the narrow rapier. The stout man noticeably winced and wiped his sweating brow. His balding pate, beady eyes and long nose, combined with his stature, gave Rezkin the impression that he was looking at a human-sized mole. The warrior held the rapier before him, eyed down its length and said, “Nonsense. This is a fine practice sword, and it is straight as an arrow.”

“Ah, I see, yes. I must have been thinking of a different sword. Ah, sorry, my lord. I’ll take my leave,” said the grungy, little man before he scurried down the corridor.

Rezkin quickly handed the rapier to Tieran, who was obviously confused, and then silently hurried after the man. The warrior followed the mole down a few corridors until the man disappeared behind a door to one of the inner offices. Uncomfortable with leaving Tieran alone, Rezkin decided to return later to gather more information.

The warrior and nobleman practiced for a little over an hour before finally calling a halt. Rezkin spoke loudly as he said, “I was hoping you might stay in town tonight. The competitors were all planning to get together to discuss opponents and strategies over ale before playing a game or two to relax. The tournament grounds are much closer to the inn than this estate, and you have to be there quite early.”

“That is an excellent idea,” Tieran replied. “I am just getting myself wound up sitting around up here on the hill.”

“I will help you gather your things, and we can meet with the others before dinner,” Rezkin announced.

As soon as the two entered Tieran’s room, Rezkin grabbed the young man by the shoulders, maneuvered him into a corner and silently motioned for him to be quiet and stay put. Tieran nodded curiously at Rezkin’s odd behavior and then watched as the man moved about the room running his eyes and gentle fingers over everything. Rezkin checked the rugs, the washbasin, the linens and even Tieran’s extra boots. He grabbed a sack and started shoving items into it after they had been checked thoroughly. Finally, he came to the clothes Tieran had set aside to be worn for the tournament. Rezkin sniffed and noted the fine sheen of slightly purple powder around the collar of the embellished tunic.

“Tieran, really? You intend to wear this for the tournament? Surely not,” Rezkin remarked loudly with haughty enthusiasm.

Tieran frowned but went along with it. “What is wrong with it? It is in the latest fashion from Durabang.”

“Sure, if you want to look Sandean! You are representing Ashai, Tieran. You must wear something more appropriate,” Rezkin remarked.

“Yes, you are right, of course. I had not thought of that,” the nobleman returned.

“Here, wear this. It is much more acceptable,” Rezkin stated as he stuffed a tunic into the bag. The ivory tunic was just as decorative with its gold and silver embroidery, but it was of an Ashaiian cut. Rezkin thrust the bag into Tieran’s hands and said, “Let us be off. There is a festival today, you know.”

“But, I need to get my sword maintenance supplies…” Tieran started.

“My things are better,” Rezkin said shortly as he turned his friend and shooed him through the door.

As the two were making their way down the corridor to the front entrance, the duke’s steward caught up with them.

“Lord Nirius, is something amiss? Are you going somewhere?” the steward asked furtively.

“Of course not…” Tieran started.

“Tieran has decided to stay a few days in town with his friends. You know how young wolves like to run in packs and all. He is missing out on so much of the tournament excitement being way up here on the hill,” Rezkin replied as they continued walking.

“Ah, yes, my lord, I understand. But, your guards, Lord Tieran,” the steward said.

“Yes, yes, the guards. You should send them along. They know where to go. They have been there before,” Rezkin replied without concern.

“But…do you not need an escort now, Lord Tieran?” the steward pressed.

“I am escort enough,” Rezkin snapped. He stopped and turned abruptly, causing the steward to nearly collide with him. “Surely you have heard of my Skills?” he inquired with a heated glare.

The steward’s chin wagged up and down as he straightened. “Ah, yes, my lord. I may have heard a bit of something…”

Rezkin nodded once and then continued moving again. “He is a young man…at the King’s Tournament! He should be out enjoying himself, do you not agree?”

“W-well, yes,” the steward stuttered.

“Good. Please inform the duke that Tieran thanks him for his hospitality, and he will return in a few days,” Rezkin ordered as he strutted through the door after Tieran.

“Y-yes, my lord,” the steward said to their retreating backs as he stood at the threshold.

Rezkin led Tieran to the stables where he went about saddling Pride while Tieran secured a loaner. Master Grey protested Rezkin tending to his own horse, but relented when Rezkin assured the man he preferred it so. Before allowing Tieran to mount the chocolate brown mare, he checked the beast and tack thoroughly. Satisfied that there were no more traps or poisons, Rezkin indicated that they were ready to leave.

After they had been riding for about twenty minutes and were in an open expanse where anyone within hearing distance could have been easily seen, Tieran turned to Rezkin with exasperation. “By the Maker, Rezkin, what was that? We spirited out of there so quickly it is bound to raise suspicion. What is going on?”

“Suspicion, perhaps, but Ytrevius’s daughters will no doubt report Hespion’s attempt to use his mage power on me. The duke will likely believe that I was offended and preferred to spend time away from the manor with my childhood friend,” he finished with a raised brow.

Tieran appeared embarrassed as he said, “Yes, well, I may have stretched the truth as to the nature of our relationship a bit. My father accepted the duke’s offer of hospitality because it would have been offensive if he had not, but there had been no mention of Hespion’s presence. I did not know what to do. I-…I overheard something that set my nerves on edge. In truth, I was scared, Rez. I guess I wanted them to believe I had someone on my side with whom they would not wish to contend.”

“Your father is a duke, Tieran. You have many powerful people on your side,” Rezkin remarked.

“Yes, but they are not here!” Tieran hissed. “I am telling you, Rez, they were talking about killing someone!”

Rezkin’s face darkened. “Who is ‘they’, and who is ‘someone’?”

“Ytrevius and Hespion,” Tieran said, quieter than necessary. “I was going to Ytrevius’s office to discuss some business on behalf of my father when I heard the two of them talking about getting rid of someone. They were discussing the amount of trouble it would cause when the person was dead and whether or not they had accounted for all of the ‘loose ends’. I do not know who the ‘someone’ is, but it was definitely a male, and it is someone important. I was worried that it might be me. But, you did not know all of this. Why were you in such a hurry to leave?”

“You may have had good reason for concern. I found two separate attempts to poison you in the short time I was there. Quite frankly, I am surprised you lasted this long. They must have just decided to implement the plan,” Rezkin replied.

Tieran’s face went pale as he looked at Rezkin with disbelief. “Poison! They tried to poison me? Why? How? How did you know?”

“A small needle, no doubt laced with some type of poison, was on the grip of your intended practice sword. That mole of a man attempted to stop me when he realized the poison would go to someone other than his intended target,” Rezkin replied.

“That was why you followed him,” Tieran said as the realization dawned.

“Yes, and I followed until he entered an interior office. I did not want to leave you alone too long in case there was another attempt. It was a good thing I did not, since there was a second attempt,” the warrior explained. “The tunic you intended to wear to the tournament was laced with a poison powder.”

The young nobleman’s mouth hung open incredulously until he spouted, “You mean I could have died today had I not called for you?”

Rezkin shrugged. “Perhaps. I do not know what kind of poison was used as of yet. I did collect samples, though, so I can make the determination when we reach the inn.”

Tieran glanced back in the direction they had come and said, “How do I know you are telling the truth? I did not see any of these poisons.”

Rezkin frowned and looked at the man riding beside him. “You think I am lying?”

“I did not say that. Would you believe me if I simply told you the same?” Tieran asked.

Rezkin shook his head and said, “You called upon me, Tieran, because you heard them talking about killing someone. I simply showed up when you called. Besides, what reason could I have for lying about this?”

“I do not know. Perhaps to gain support for your True King,” Tieran argued.

“Tieran, you had all but given him your support already. What would be the point? If you believe I am lying, then simply go back to the duke’s mansion and wait it out there,” Rezkin snapped.

Tieran sighed heavily and said, “No, I apologize, Rez. I do not believe that you would lie to me. It is just that, no one has ever tried to kill me before – at least, not that I know of – and it is terrifying. I suppose I would rather believe you are lying than accept it as truth. I do believe you, though. If they came at me with a sword, I would at least have a chance to defend myself, but poison! I would never have seen it coming. How did you know?”

“I have trained to identify such things,” Rezkin replied.

“Yes, Malcius said that you had some odd habits, particularly at bedtime,” Tieran observed.

“Suffice it to say, people have attempted to poison me numerous times and have occasionally succeeded. One needs little more encouragement to stay vigilant,” Rezkin stated.

“If they succeeded, then how are you still alive?” Tieran asked with horror.

“Not all poisons are intended to kill, and most of the fatal ones have antidotes. If you can get the correct antidote in time, you may have a chance to live,” the warrior supplied.

“And, you-…you have these antidotes?” Tieran asked hopefully.

Rezkin nodded and said, “Some. What I do not have, I can make, if I have the correct ingredients. This is a major international trading port, though, and many foreigners are in the city for the tournament. I suppose some rather unusual poisons could be available here – perhaps even something I have not seen before; but it is unlikely anyone would think to use something so exotic if they did not think their foe able to contend with the more common elements.”

Tieran shivered and looked at the ground thoughtfully as the horse plodded along. “Thank you,” he said after a time.

“For what?” Rezkin inquired.

“For coming when I asked…for being there…for finding the poisons…and for getting me out of there,” the young man said the last on a choked breath.

“I will do what I can to protect you, Tieran. It was a responsibility I accepted when I assigned you to that ship,” Rezkin replied.

Tieran looked up abruptly with watery eyes. “When you assigned me?”

Rezkin grinned mischievously and said, “Did you think it was coincidence?”

“B-but how? And why?” the young man inquired, suddenly nervous.

“I assure you that my intentions at the time were not so nefarious. They had little to do with politics and everything to do with Frisha,” Rezkin replied.

Tieran frowned. “What does Frisha have to do with this?”

Rezkin sighed. “Frisha, as you know, is only now entering the peerage as Marcum’s heir. No one will respect her. I had hoped that if you and the Jebais learned to accept her, especially you, having the kind of influence that you do, then others in high society might be inclined to do so as well.”

The young nobleman shook his head. “But, she has you.”

Frowning, Rezkin replied, “Marcum rejected me, Tieran. If he does not change his mind, she may be relegated to marrying someone else. I would prefer the man she marries to actually care for her and demand respect on her behalf. I do not wish for her to be used for the general’s wealth and then cast aside. Without the support of people of influence, people like you, she will be treated as less than garbage for being a commoner who deigns to believe she is worthy of the company of nobles.”

Tieran stared at the strange man beside him in silence. Finally, he said, “You would manipulate my travel arrangements and accept the responsibility of my protection just so that I will put in a good word for Frisha in case she marries someone else?”

Rezkin spied the man out of the corner of his eye and then lifted a shoulder in a half shrug.

“It is not just that, is it? You manipulated the whole trip! That is why Captain Jimson said you were in charge. You arranged for the Jebais and Brandt…and what of Baron Fendendril? Did you arrange his travel as well?” Tieran asked in amazement.

The warrior continued scanning their surroundings but silently nodded once.

“And, you did not even intend to compete in the tournament, did you? This entire trip was all about Frisha?” Tieran scoffed.

Rezkin winced at the man’s tone. “Well, not completely. I do have other business here, but I could have more easily come alone. I admit that I gathered Frisha and the rest of you for that purpose.”

The duke’s son simply stared. And, then he started to laugh. He laughed so hard he had tears coming from his eyes. “By the Maker, Rezkin, I have never heard of anything so absurdly romantic. You commandeered military personnel, a ship, and crew, and manipulated the lives of a baron and the heirs of four high noble houses for months during the King’s Tournament just to ensure the happiness of a woman in the event you do not get to marry her.”

The warrior shrugged. “Whether I marry her or not, Frisha will always be my friend, and I endeavor to honor and protect my friends.”

“I would be so lucky to call you friend, Rezkin,” Tieran stated earnestly.

Rezkin glanced over at the rider beside him and then nodded once, receiving a genuine smile from the young lord. Rezkin inwardly shrugged. He might as well add to the list. Although he originally had reservations about the arrogant young noble, he had come to like Tieran. Whoever was in charge of assigning him friends could just deal with it.

Tieran’s smile faded, and he said seriously, “Thank you, Rezkin.”

“What is it this time?” Rezkin inquired curiously.

“For not running me through when we first met. Now that I know you, I know that your promise to kill me was no idle threat. Thinking back, that was probably my first real brush with death, and I did not even know it. I thank the Maker that your honor surpasses your formidable skills.”

“You were being an idiot. Someone had to teach you some sense,” Rezkin replied.

Tieran laughed and said, “I have not heard you so candid before. Scores of other nobles were traveling to Skutton, but you chose me. That is why, is it not? You wanted to influence me?”

“Not politically speaking. I hoped you would become a man worthy of the position you will one day hold,” Rezkin replied.

“Sometimes I wonder if you are some ancient mage posturing as a young man. You speak with wisdom beyond your years,” Tieran remarked as their horses began clopping down one of the main stone streets of the city.

“I assure you, I am only nineteen,” Rezkin said. He paused and then added, “…or perhaps twenty, now. I do not really know, since I never new my parents.”

“How were you raised if you did not know your parents? And how have you become so successful?” Tieran asked in surprise.

“I was raised by trainers who took the responsibility seriously,” Rezkin vaguely replied. “Through intensive training, they made it clear I was of some import, but they died before revealing my family history to me.”

“You do not even know from which House you hail?” Tieran asked in surprise. “Surely your family must be looking for you if you have now disappeared from your training facility. Are you sure that is your age? Perhaps you are older than you think,” Tieran pondered. He simply could not believe that Rezkin was five years younger than he.

The warrior shrugged and said, “It does not really matter, does it?”

The young lord rubbed at his chin and said, “No, I suppose it does not. If you were trained by Swordmasters your whole life, then someone had to pay a fortune. They had to be preparing you to take over the House and its business. You must come from one of the Great Houses, although I cannot think of one that could afford such an education, not even my own. I find it hard to believe that you do not know where you come from with the way you wield power. You must know something to claim such status.”

Rezkin looked at Tieran sideways and said, “I know my birthright.”

Tieran’s eyes widened excitedly. “So you do know your family!”

The warrior shifted in his saddle as his eyes roved over the streets and passersby. “I know my patron and am reasonably certain of his intentions, but I have no reason to believe he is family.”

The young lord pondered the statement and then lit up exclaiming, “Your k-…ah…master! He was your patron!”

Rezkin frowned and said, “I have no master.”

“But…you said you serve the True K-…ah, you know who,” Tieran said cautiously with more than a little skepticism.

“We can discuss this another time, Tieran. This is not the place, and we had best concentrate on your own problems,” the warrior replied.

“Right…yes…poison,” Tieran reminded himself as the weight settled on him once again.

Chapter 20

Just as the two arrived at the inn, Rezkin spied Wesson lugging a heavy sack up the front steps. Wesson dropped the bag to the deck and stretched his back as Rezkin and Tieran dismounted. The young mage smiled pleasantly and said, “I gathered all of the items you requested and then some. I admit there were a few I just could not pass up. Can you believe I found sable sand for ten silvers a pound?”

Rezkin’s brow rose, and he remarked, “That is a good deal.” He took in the mage’s physical distress from lugging the heavy pack and asked, “Just how much sable sand did you purchase?”

Wesson flushed slightly and said, “Oh, I only bought two pounds of that, but I found some other interesting goods I thought you would like. I also purchased a few things to add to my own collection. If ah…you do not want any of the extra goods, you can take them out of my pay, of course.”

The warrior waved away the mage’s concern and replied, “No, no. I told you to purchase whatever you think we need. If you found a good deal on something useful, then I am sure we can find a use for it. Did you happen to pick up a bottle of cindermint oil?”

Rubbing his chin thoughtfully, the mage looked up with concern, “No, but I believe there is already a bottle in your supplies. I have not had much use for the stuff, myself.”

“Please pick up another bottle on your next outing. Actually, pick up two or three. I am about to use most of the one I have, and we may need more in the near future,” Rezkin replied.

Wesson looked appalled. “Whatever for? Are you planning on playing with poison?” he asked more cautiously.

“I do not play with poison, but someone does. I have already found two intended for Tieran today. I need to perform the tests to identify them and determine the assailant’s purpose,” Rezkin replied.

The mage’s face paled as his eyes darted to the duke’s son. In a hushed voice he said, “Someone tried to poison Lord Tieran? Where did this happen?”

“It was someone at the duke’s estate, and we have reason to believe both Duke Ytrevius and Duke Atressian’s son, Hespion, may have been involved,” Rezkin said without concern for being overheard since he felt the mage’s sound shield pop up around the three of them.

“Yes, I can see that it is most important we determine their purpose as soon as possible, especially before he must return to the duke’s estate,” Wesson replied.

“As to that, we will require a shift in room assignments. Tieran will be staying here for a few days – at least until we have more information and can be assured of his safety,” Rezkin stated.

“Of course. If it were me, I would not go back at all,” the mage muttered.

Tieran agreed wholeheartedly, but to not go back would be seen as a serious insult to the duke. Without proof that the duke was involved, Tieran could not present a good reason for his sudden departure. If he brought the poisoning attempts to light, it would alert the assailant that he was aware of the poisonings, and the attempts might become more blatant or the parties involved could disappear, and they would never find the culprit. Still, was it worth his life?

“I shall set up the glassware while you tend to your horse, if you please,” Wesson stated. “I assume you know what you are doing. I do not really have any experience with poisons.”

“Yes, thank you, Journeyman. That will be helpful,” Rezkin replied. “As to the experience, you are about to learn.” The warrior reached down with one hand and lifted the mage’s heavy pack easily, hefting it onto his shoulder as though it weighed little more than a down-stuffed pillow.

Wesson’s wan smile faded as the other two made their way around to the back of the inn. The young mage really had no desire to get involved with poison. The thought was utterly frightening that something so small and seemingly innocuous could be so deadly. It suddenly occurred to him that his aversion to poisons stemmed from many of the same concerns he had about…well…himself. He saw himself as something like a poison. A poison really had no purpose other than to destroy…just like him.

When Rezkin and Tieran finally made it up to the room, the glassware was already arranged on a small table, and Wesson had just lit a mage flame in a hand-sized bowl. Rezkin nodded in approval. The mage flame would burn at a constant temperature and would not extinguish until Wesson released it.

After discarding their packs, Rezkin rifled through his supplies of powders, pastes, solvents, oils, herbs and other medicinal and alchemical ingredients. He selected a number of bottles, jars and packets and arranged them in an orderly fashion beside the glassware. He took a seat in the single chair at the table, while Wesson stood at his side and Tieran sat at the end of a bed watching curiously.

From his doublet, Rezkin retrieved a tiny bundle of leather. He placed the bundle on a small ceramic plate and then removed his doublet and rolled up his sleeves. He carefully unwrapped the leather bundle. The first thing that popped out was a white kerchief with light purple splotches. Careful not to touch the purple powder, Rezkin moved the kerchief to another plate. He continued to unroll the leather until the tiny needle, not much larger than a burr fell onto the ceramic plate.

Tieran’s eyes were wide as he exclaimed, “Where are the poisons?”

Rezkin motioned to the kerchief and said, “The purple powder was on your tunic, and the tiny needle was on your practice sword.”

The young lord leaned forward and squinted at the ceramic plate. “That! You saw that tiny thing on the hilt? I can barely see it on the plate, and it was a wire hilt in the shade. How do you know it is poisoned?”

“Aside from the creepy little man’s behavior?” Rezkin asked with irritation.

“Right, but you knew before he approached,” Tieran argued.

The warrior sighed and said, “If you were to look very closely, you would see that the tip of the needle is hollow. It is meant to carry a liquid into the body. If you gripped the hilt, you might have felt a tiny prick you most likely would have attributed to a loose wire. You would not have considered that you were poisoned even after you fell ill – that is if it did not kill you outright.”

“And the powder? Should you not be wearing gloves or something?” Tieran inquired.

“I would then have to burn the gloves,” Rezkin replied. “Besides, this is very delicate work, especially since I am using smaller glassware designed for traveling. My measurements and motions must be precise, and wool and leather gloves are too thick to allow for that kind of movement. Do not worry. I am immune to most poisons, so I will not likely be affected.”

“Why are you immune to poisons?” the young lord asked with surprise.

“It is recommended that anyone who works with poisons develop a healthy immunity to the substances,” Rezkin replied.

Tieran and Wesson both looked at Rezkin with concern and calculation. “You mentioned before that you had knowledge of such, but I did not realize your experience was so…thorough,” the young lord remarked uncomfortably.

“You should be glad it is,” the warrior-apothecary, replied as he used a miniature clamp to lift the needle over a clear glass vial and began dousing it with pungent oil. After several drops of the oil had gathered in the bottom of the vial, Rezkin added a few drops of another low viscosity, clear liquid. He then mixed in a white powder, which he stirred with a thin glass rod while holding it over the mage flame with a larger set of clamps. The warrior poured the milky substance into a glass jar and then set it aside. He began mixing other powders and liquids into two other jars, occasionally heating them. One jar he placed over the flame and then covered the top with a long tube that curled around in a spiral off to the side. Liquid dripped out of the tube into another jar.

Tieran had no idea what the man was doing, but he certainly looked like he knew how to do it. Every once in a while he caught Wesson reading the bottles, scratching his head thoughtfully, or nodding in approval. Eventually, Rezkin combined the concoctions in an interesting display of colors where adding one liquid changed the clear mixture blue and adding the other would turn it red. If the young lord did not know any better, he would have thought talent was involved.

Rezkin glanced around and noted that his separation ramp was missing. He went over and dug through his items until he found the small ceramic device. It was really just a ceramic slab that was raised in the middle with the two sides tilting downward at a slight angle like ramps butting up against each other. At the end of each ramp was a small basin. The whole apparatus was not much bigger than Rezkin’s hand. Wesson frowned as the warrior set it on the table but said nothing.

Picking up the final jar of red liquid, Rezkin held it carefully over the center of the ramp and began to pour a tiny, steady trickle. As the red liquid hit the apex of the ramp, a slightly green liquid slid down the ramp to the right and a fine blue powder slid down the ramp to the left. Rezkin poured until the entirety of the red liquid had disappeared.

Wesson’s eyes were wide as he exclaimed, “How did you do that? It is not possible!”

Rezkin frowned at the mage and replied, “Of course it is possible. It is a separation ramp. That is its intended use. Surely you used one at some point in your training. ”

The mage shook his head emphatically saying, “No, I mean, that is an alchemist’s tool. It cannot be used by a mundane. You must infuse the solution with the proper combination of powers to get the desired result.”

Raising his brow questioningly, Rezkin said, “I am not a mage. Did you sense me using any power?”

Wesson shifted uncomfortably and said, “Well, no.”

“The ramp obviously worked,” Rezkin remarked as he motioned to the object in question.

Tieran’s eyes darted back and forth between the two as they stared at each other defiantly. Finally, he interrupted. “I do not understand. How can you say what the poison is just by doing…all of that?” he asked as he waved his hand over the entire setup.

Rezkin turned to the man he now called friend and said, “Each step told me something about the nature of the poison. Depending on the result, I added another step that would give me an answer to the next question. Each time, it narrowed down the possibilities as to which of the poisons known to me could have been applied to the needle. The fact that the titration, the part just before the end, resulted in blue and red liquids meant that it was either crophylius serum, which is quite deadly, or triania extract, which is not. The final liquid portion is green and the powder is blue, which means it was triania extract.

Tieran frowned and said, “But you said triania extract is not deadly.”

“That is correct. It will not kill you, at least, not unless you were to consume a larger quantity. At this small dosage, I would expect you to feel miserable, be extremely tired, and probably be quite nauseous, perhaps even vomit,” Rezkin replied.

With furrowed brow, Tieran said, “So someone was trying to make me sick?”

“It would seem so – at least with this particular item. It is possible that the other poison is cause for more concern or even that the two could combine to cause a more serious condition,” the warrior replied.

“Well then, shall we see what the other one is?” Tieran asked.

Rezkin nodded and he and Wesson began cleaning the glassware and ceramics. Tieran noticed that Wesson’s eyes continuously glanced suspiciously at his employer, particularly after they landed on the separation ramp a few times. The journeyman’s concerns suddenly reminded Tieran of his own confusion over what happened with Hespion.

“Rezkin, how did you know that Hespion was directing his power at you, and how did you manage to defend yourself against it? I did not even notice the power until it surged back,” Tieran asked curiously.

Wesson’s attention darted to the warrior who was finishing the setup. Rezkin shook his head and replied, “Most people do not realize a mundane can protect himself from a mage attack if he creates a focus shield.”

“A focus shield?” Wesson asked doubtfully.

“Yes, much like a mage focuses his will into his power, a mundane can focus his own will into preventing that power from reaching him – a focus shield,” the warrior stated as he sat down and began dousing the poison-coated kerchief with the clear oil.

Wesson shook his head with furrowed brow. “It does not work that way, Rezkin. A mundane cannot even feel the mage power, much less protect against it. That is why there are laws against using one’s powers on a mundane without permission or serious cause.”

Rezkin shook his head in protest and explained, “It is a technique that takes years of practice to master. Not everyone is capable of such focus.”

“No, Rezkin, others have tried for decades, maybe longer. Even the academy has pushed to discover such a method. It does not exist,” Wesson replied.

Rezkin began heating and mixing his potions. “Just like the separation ramp should not work?” he asked with derision.

“Yes,” Wesson nodded emphatically. “Just like the separation ramp should not work except for a trained mage.”

“But, I have no mage power. I am not a mage,” the warrior said as he looked up at his retainer.

“Perhaps the separation ramp is enchanted to work for anyone,” Tieran offered optimistically.

“I do not sense any enchantments on the ramp, and I am fairly skilled with enchantments,” Wesson remarked, “particularly one that would require nocent power, as would a separation spell.”

“You, yourself, can attest that there is more than one way to obtain a desired result. This is the method I learned, and it seems to work for me. The fact that I am not a mage only supports the argument that it is possible for a mundane to accomplish the things you think are impossible,” Rezkin argued.

Wesson sighed but begrudgingly admitted, “Yes, I suppose you are correct.” Still, his brow remained furrowed, and he watched Rezkin carefully as he performed the next test.

It was half past the dinner bell when Rezkin finally finished the test for the second poison. To everyone’s surprise, the poison was once again triania extract but in a powdered form.

“So,” the warrior said, “someone wanted to make you sick. The second dose would have been much worse, and you probably would have been laid up for at least a day or two, or longer if you were continuously exposed to the substance.”

“Could it have killed me with prolonged exposure?” Tieran asked.

“Hmm, I suppose the constant nausea and fatigue would eventually take its toll, but it would take years for you to waste away in such a manner. If that was someone’s intention, then I would expect it to be someone in your own household like that manservant of yours,” Rezkin supplied.

“Colton would never do such a thing,” Tieran protested.

“It is always the one you trust,” Rezkin commented pessimistically. “No, I do not think this was of a long term nature, anyhow. I think someone wanted you too sick to fight in the tournament.”

“What? Why? I am not even competing in the main event. No one in Ytrevius’s household is competing in the rapier division, as far as I know,” Tieran argued.

“No, I think not. I do not think it was about the tournament itself. What would people think if you suddenly took ill the night before the tournament and could not compete or performed very poorly? You are tired, listless, and vomiting, probably slurring your speech,” the warrior suggested.

Tieran’s eyes widened as he exclaimed, “They would think I was drunk or hungover! It would be shameful. I would be branded a worthless drunkard who could not even put down his bottle to show for the King’s Tournament!”

“And, when it came time to support a replacement for an empty throne?” Rezkin inquired.

“Ytrevius and Hespion would remind everyone of how I drank myself through the King’s Tournament while enjoying the hospitality of the duke!” Tieran finished.

Rezkin nodded and continued, “If they were not discussing killing you…”

The young lord blurted, “Caydean!”

“Perhaps – or your father,” Rezkin supplied. “It would do little good to defame you with your father as the next rightful contender for the throne. Your father could simply say that you are still young and will grow into your responsibility. The fact that your father’s claim is through your mother, and that he can only hold the throne as regent until you are ready, means that your mother is also a target. Even if you and your father were to die, she could still remarry and bear more heirs, assuming she is capable of carrying more children. This is obviously a small move that is part of a larger plan.”

Tieran lurched to his feet and said, “But I do not even want the throne! And…and…I am not even rightfully the next in line! It is this True King and his heirs!”

“You follow this True King, now?” Wesson asked curiously.

Tieran stared at the mage for a moment as though processing another language. He began furiously pacing back and forth as he vented his frustrations. “What would I do with the throne? I am not prepared for that kind of responsibility. I am a coward. Just look at me. I overhear one clandestine meeting and go running to you with my paranoia.”

“It is hardly paranoia, Tieran. Someone tried to poison you,” Rezkin reassured.

“Yes, and you found the poison, and you figured out the plot. You-…you would make a better king than I,” the young noble continued as though Rezkin had not spoken. “You always know what to do. You are always so calm and certain. You are a Dual-Blade Swordmaster, and you have to be the smartest person I know,” he said waving a hand at the glassware and potions arrayed over the table. “If your master does not wish to be king, then have him denounce the throne and name you his successor. Yes, your master…” he stopped mid-sentence and turned to stare at Rezkin.

Rezkin sat back and saw the understanding dawn on the young man’s face as Tieran stood in disbelief. “You have no master,” he stated a little too calmly. “You-…” his voice trembled and rose as he spoke. “You said earlier that you have no master,” the fretful lord nearly shouted as he furiously pointed an accusing finger at the seated warrior. “You are the king!”

Wesson had erected the silencing ward as soon as they entered the room, so Rezkin was not concerned about others hearing Tieran’s pronouncement. He was only concerned about how Tieran would react to the news. Tieran started pacing as he worked through the evidence. His eyes barely left Rezkin for even a moment.

“You had a ridiculous amount of training at the hands of Swordmasters…you have an insane amount of knowledge about history and economics and politics and probably everything else…and, and the striker is ready to jump at your every command.” Tieran’s scornful laugh was full of self-deprecation. “I am an idiot. Of course, I should have seen it. Who orders a striker around but the king?”

He thought through every interaction he could think of in which he had been involved with Rezkin. “You have never once introduced yourself as Lord Rezkin – just Rezkin. I thought you were just strangely humble or informal – but, no, you are not a lord at all! You would claim no title but that of the king!” His eyes widened, and he stared at Rezkin once again. “You have no family name! Only the royal family carries no family name.”

Rezkin shook his head. “You know as well as I that Bordran had only two living sons, and I am neither Caydean nor Thresson.”

Tieran’s brow furrowed, and he said, “But you look just like them.” He shook his head. “How could I have not seen it before? Anyone can see that you are related.” The young nobleman sunk to the bed across from Rezkin’s chair and stared at the warrior.

Wesson turned his attention back to his employer and remarked, “Actually, you do look just like them. I did not see it, either. Ohhhhhh…” the mage said with understanding. He looked between Rezkin and Tieran and stated, “I think the spell is no longer working on Lord Tieran. You might as well come clean.”

“Spell?” Tieran asked with sudden alertness. “You cast a spell on me?”

Wesson quickly shook his head and said, “No, no. The spell was cast on Rezkin. It keeps people from recognizing him. He can influence their perception of him with his will. The spell’s influence is less effective on mages,” he said as he looked pointedly at Tieran, “and can be overcome with time as the person gets to know him. The more you know of him in truth, the less he is able to influence your belief as to who he is.

“I understand you have always been particularly suspicious of Rezkin,” Wesson continued. “The spell was probably less effective due to your power ratio as a life mage and only made you realize there was something wrong or you unconsciously recognized you were being influenced in some way. We knew you would probably be the first to come to the realization.” Wesson scratched his head and said, “Actually, it was probably your strong desire for Rezkin to be…who he is…that finally broke its influence over you.”

“So, you knew?” Tieran asked despondently.

“Wesson is quite powerful and a fully trained mage,” Rezkin explained. “He was less affected by the spell and easily noted that something odd was occurring. It took him some time to overcome its effects. Even he is still subject to its power when applied properly. For my part, I did not even know of the spell until Wesson’s discovery. I assume my former masters or patron had the spell placed on me.”

“Your patron. You mean King Bordran,” Tieran stated. The warrior nodded in affirmation. “I want to see it. This proof that you are Bordran’s heir. I want to see it,” Tieran asserted.

Rezkin pulled the metal tube from his tunic and tossed it to the anxious noble. Tieran opened the tube with shaking hands and unrolled the parchment. He read through it once and then simply stared at the swords sheathed at Rezkin’s waist.

“So, that is why you never use them in practice,” the young man calmly observed.

Rezkin raised a concerned brow. Of all the things Tieran could say, he had not expected such a simple observation.

“Will you do it?” Tieran asked. “Will you claim the throne?”

The warrior sighed and said, “You and the others have convinced me that it is my responsibility to claim the throne from Caydean. Kai is convinced that I am meant to keep the throne. I am not so certain. I have little desire to be king. You and Kai have both impressed upon me Prince Thresson’s unsuitability for the throne, assuming he is still alive. I think that, given enough time and guidance, you could make a decent king. I will claim the throne on your behalf if you so desire. You need feel no threat or rivalry from me.”

Tieran’s jaw dropped. “Rivalry? Rezkin, how many times have I said that I do not want the throne?”

Rezkin nodded and said, “I know. I just want to assure you that I have no ill intentions toward you because of your place in the line of succession.”

“You would do that? You would claim the throne and then just hand it over to me? Me, having done nothing to acquire it on my own?” Tieran asked with disbelief.

“Tieran, it is as you said. I was trained for this. I am far more capable of succeeding than you, and with that certificate,” he said, nodding to the parchment still clutched in Tieran’s grip, “I have the legal authority to do so. It does not mean I have to keep it once I have it. And, as you have pointed out before, you are of blood relation.”

“So are you,” Tieran asserted. “No matter what your spell does, I can see it now. There is no doubt in my mind that you are of the royal family. You may not be Bordran’s, but you are of the royal bloodline.”

Wesson perked up. “I can test for that.”

Tieran and Rezkin both abruptly turned their attention on the mage. “You can?” they both asked.

“Of course,” Wesson stated. “Mages have been certifying bloodlines for…well, all of history. You could do it, as well, Tieran, if you were trained. Life mages are especially skilled with the spell. It is just within my abilities. It took me a long time to learn not to burn up the samples.”

“Samples?” Rezkin asked.

“I need a sample of blood freely given from the two parties I am to compare,” Wesson replied. Both men stared at him uncertainly. The mage shrugged and said, “The blood does not give up its energies easily. Even the energy in your blood recognizes your will.”

Tieran studied Rezkin and then turned to Wesson and said, “I will consent.”

The mage and the young lord both turned their attention to the warrior king. Suddenly, the prospect of finding out whether or not he was of blood relation to Tieran seemed daunting. Not only would Rezkin discover if he truly had a blood claim to the throne, in addition to his designation as Bordran’s successor, but he would also have family. Rezkin had no training for how to deal with family. He knew there was supposed to be a bond and that family bonds were supposed to be the strongest, but aside from the friendship he had developed with Tieran, he felt no other bonds. He rubbed his jaw with the back of his thumb in an uncharacteristic, albeit subtle, display of anxiety. Finally, he stood and nodded once.

Wesson shuffled forward and selected two small, clean ceramic plates from the table of glassware. He handed one to Rezkin and the other to Tieran. “I only need a few drops of blood from each of you. When you drip them onto the plate, keep in the forefront of your mind that you are giving them willingly. I will burn up anything that is left. You do not want to leave samples such as this lying around for anyone to collect.”

Both young men gave samples of their blood, and Wesson set the samples next to each other on the table so that the men could see what he was doing. The mage focused his will and sent a tendril of his vimara into each of the samples. He then tied the ends of each of the tendrils together and focused carefully on the spell. If he lost focus now, he would burn up the samples, which he really did not want to do in front of the two greatest contenders for the throne of Ashai.

At this point, Wesson was fairly certain that either both young men would end up dead or one of them would become king, especially since it appeared that at least two of the dukes were already plotting to claim the throne. The mage thought that Caydean’s rule was certain to come to an end one way or another, and the tyrant did not seem to be in any hurry to produce an heir of his own.

When he was finished constructing the spell, Wesson released it into the connected vimara strands. The blood in both dishes reacted instantly. With a faint glow, the liquid quickly began moving up the strands. When the blood samples collided in the middle, they glowed brightly and popped with a spark before the entire spell collapsed. Both samples had been completely vaporized.

“Huh,” the mage said with surprise.

“Well?” asked the duke’s son.

“Any faster and I would have said you were brothers…or father and son,” the mage said with a grin. “You are definitely related and closely. You are probably cousins or uncle and nephew, something of the sort. I cannot say by which side of the family, however. It could be on your father’s side, Tieran, which would not make him of blood relation to Bordran, as you know.” To Rezkin he remarked, “Bordran’s brother, Deysius, died without an heir. You could be his or Bordran’s bastard, I suppose. Ah, sorry, Rezkin, I mean no offense.”

Rezkin shrugged and said, “No offense taken.”

“Bordran had a few uncles,” Wesson continued, “but I do not think the blood link would be close enough for the kind of relation we just witnessed if you were one of their sons. You could have been Bordran’s brother or half brother, but the age is off. Both of Bordran’s parents died long before you would have been born.”

“So, he is either a cousin from my father’s side or the bastard son of Bordran or Deysius?” Tieran asked for clarity.

“It would seem so,” Wesson agreed.

“It sounds like something Uncle Bordran would do – name a bastard son or nephew as his heir over his legitimate sons if he found them lacking,” Tieran muttered as he stared at Rezkin thoughtfully. “Good enough for me,” the young lord said as he abruptly fell to his knees and drew his sword.

“Although this is unnecessary since I recognize you as the rightful king, and I have already sworn fealty to the King of Ashai, I feel inclined to do so, anyway,” Tieran stated. “Under the watchful gaze of the Maker and before the eyes of a battle mage, I, Tieran Nirius, Heir to House Wellinven, do hereby swear honor and fealty to Rezkin, my liege, my lord, my king. By my blade I will protect and serve Him as my king. Let this oath be binding above and beyond all previous oaths, so let my loyalty be known.”

Rezkin held back a groan. If he showed any irritation or ungratefulness for Tieran’s oath, it would be highly offensive and dishonor his…cousin. He was still reeling a bit over that revelation. He had yet to consider what that might mean for him, if anything.

Suppressing a sigh, Rezkin did the only thing he could do at this point. He accepted Tieran’s oath. “Tieran Nirius, I, Rezkin, do hereby accept your oath of fealty and your blade in service to me. In return, I offer you protection and sanctuary, such as I am capable of providing.”

Rezkin always added that last part because he currently had no physical sanctuary to offer. The only protection and sanctuary he had was what he could provide with his blades, and with his growing number of retainers, it was impossible to be with them each at all times. He also had his duty to his friends who were not all his vassals but required his protection under Rule 1. As The Raven, he was the criminal overlord for pretty much all of Ashai. On top of that, he was supposed to be removing a mad mage and tyrant from the throne and claiming a kingdom. And, he still had to find Farson.

Wesson was looking wide-eyed between the two. That settled one question. If Caydean were ever displaced from the throne, Tieran would not wear the crown. If either of these young men were to become king, it would be Rezkin. With Tieran’s support, it would be difficult for others to dispute Rezkin’s claim even if they chose not to acknowledge Bordran’s right to name his heir or recognize Rezkin’s Certificate of Authority as such. Tieran could simply claim the crown and then abdicate to Rezkin, anyway. If it turned out that Rezkin was of blood relation to Bordran, then probably no one would bother to dispute the claim, except perhaps Duke Atressian who had always coveted the crown.

Tieran rose to his feet and smiled broadly. “Thank you, Rezkin, you have no idea the relief I feel with you having taken the burden from my shoulders.”

“You are young, Tieran. You may come to regret this decision in the years to come,” Rezkin said solemnly.

“No, cousin, I think not. I support you wholeheartedly,” the young noble said excitedly. “Ha, ha! King Rezkin! The kingdom will quake.”

“I do not think that anyone ever thought that the Rez as king would be a good idea,” Wesson muttered.

Tieran rolled his eyes. “Well, obviously he is not The Rez, but the name is infamous and the legend popular. People will remember, and they will flock to his banner. Do you have a banner? You need a banner.”

“I do, in a manner of speaking,” Rezkin replied.

“Well, let us see it,” Tieran prodded.

Rezkin frowned and remarked, “Who is king here?”

“Oh, now you are going to start pushing your weight around?” the young lord jibed.

The warrior sauntered over to his bed, reached through the mage ward to grasp the hilt of the sword hidden beneath his mattress and pulled the blade free. He raised the black blade before him, and the green lightning inside shimmered in the light of the lamp and mage fire.

Tieran’s jaw dropped. “The black blade and green lightning bolt. You are Dark Tidings?” he exclaimed.

Rezkin scoffed and said, “Who else?” Eyeing the black blade appreciatively, he said, “Journeyman Wesson assisted me with the disguise. He is quite pleased with himself, I think. Kai and Tam helped as well. Tam came up with the name.”

“So, they also serve you?” Tieran asked.

Rezkin shook his head and replied, “Kai, Tam, and Reaylin have sworn fealty to me of their own accord, much as you did, except that Reaylin does not know I am the man to whom she swore fealty. I accepted her oath on the True King’s behalf as his Voice. Wesson serves only as a contracted employee. At the moment, only you, Tam, Kai, and Wesson have full knowledge that I am the so-called True King and that I am Dark Tidings, so please do not let that little secret out of the bag,” Rezkin requested.

“What of the Jebais and Brandt? They all respect and admire you, and they hold no love for Caydean. I am nearly certain they would serve you if you but told them who you are,” Tieran declared.

Rezkin shook his head with a sigh as he lowered the blade. “Tieran, I have kept you all in the dark not due to a desire to deceive but in order to protect you. When I set out on this journey, I had no intention of claiming a throne or anything of the sort. I have no long-term plan. I have no sanctuary to provide. I have no army of protection. And, as I have said before, you are all still only heirs. If any one of your fathers disagrees with your choice to serve me over Caydean, you will be disavowed. If Caydean learns of your sentiments, your entire families will be hung for treason. You will be dead or you will be heir to nothing.”

The young lord looked thoughtful and nodded, “Perhaps that is true for Malcius and Brandt; but at his age, my father seems to think every day will be his last. Once he learns of you and our relation, he will support you, I am sure of it. At least, he will if he believes you have an actual chance at wresting the throne from Caydean.”

Their attention was suddenly drawn to the door as the heavy wooden structure gave a slight heave and then rattled. “Ah, hello? Rezkin? Wesson?” came a muffled voice.

Rezkin strode over to the door, drew back the bar and turned the iron key in the lock. The door opened to reveal Tam standing in the corridor drenched and dripping water onto the floor. Rezkin raised a questioning brow as he took in Tam’s appearance. The young man grinned like a fool and said, “Ah, long story. Where have you been? We were hoping you would join us for dinner, but we’ve already finished.”

The warrior stepped aside to allow Tam into the room. “Oh,” Tam exclaimed as he stopped upon seeing the others. He bowed slightly and said, “Good evening, Lord Tieran, Journeyman Wesson.”

Rezkin shut and barred the door as Tam took in the table of strange glass jars, twisting tubes and other…things…for which he had no name. The young man turned to speak to his friend and liege but stalled as his eyes landed on the black sword in Rezkin’s hand. His attention darted back and forth quickly between the warrior and the duke’s son. Rezkin hefted his sword and rested it on his shoulder as he sauntered across the room toward his bed.

“Tieran knows, Tam,” Rezkin said.

“Ah, Lord Tieran knows…what…exactly?” Tam cautiously asked.

“I know that Rezkin is going to win the King’s Tournament, and then he is going to seize the throne and save the kingdom, all the while ensuring that I never have to accept the responsibility of the crown,” Tieran said with a grin. The warrior frowned at the young lord as he sheathed his sword and stowed it back under the mattress behind the mage shield that would prevent anyone from finding it.

Tam narrowed his eyes suspiciously and said, “What exactly happened at the duke’s estate?”

Tieran’s face fell, and his eyes darkened as he spat, “Someone tried to poison me…twice! Rezkin saved my life…or at the very least, my reputation.”

Rezkin grabbed a drying cloth from beside the washbasin that sat on a small table by the single window. As he tossed the cloth at his gaping friend, he noted how dark it was outside. He turned and said, “I think we had best find something to eat before they stop serving. Tieran, you must be prepared to rise early for your first round of competition tomorrow. Tam, since someone has already attempted to poison Tieran twice, I would prefer to keep him close. Would you mind moving into the room with Kai and Brandt? I will speak with them.”

“No, of course, that is not a problem,” Tam sputtered. He could not believe someone had actually attempted to poison the duke’s son.

As a carpenter’s apprentice, Tamarin went about his daily chores never even considering once that poison might be an issue; and, yet, it seemed that these nobles had to consider the prospect of being murdered at all times. Rezkin’s strange habit of “checking for traps and poisons,” as he put it, was beginning to seem more and more reasonable as he spent time around these nobles. Sure, as a commoner, keeping food on the table was a challenge in difficult times, but as far as he knew, no one had ever actually wanted him dead. Tam had always considered the noble life to be all glamour and luxury, but he was beginning to realize it was full of insidious plots and death.

Chapter 21

The following day, Rezkin escorted Tieran to the staging area of the main arena. Thirty-six people were competing in the division, and Tieran was to participate in the opening matches. Frisha, Tam, Jimson, Shiela and Palis were sitting in the stands to watch the event, and Rezkin asked Wesson and Kai to keep an eye out for anything suspicious. The space behind the group was relatively clear, since Shiela’s bright yellow parasol was blocking the view. Malcius, Brandt, and Reaylin were all over in the second arena observing the participants in their own competitions and preparing for their matches that would take place in the afternoon.

The witnessing crowd was small for the first day of competition, and spectators were split between the two arenas. Tieran competed without incident, but Rezkin remained vigilant as usual. The duke’s son defeated his first two opponents, only receiving a single cut, but was defeated by the third. This earned him a score with a four-three ratio, meaning he received four strikes out of three matches. Although the other half of the division participants had yet to compete, the score was likely good enough to send him to the next round. Healers were stationed nearby to tend to the competitors’ wounds, but they did nothing for the blood or tears in garments. The city’s wash maids and seamstresses would be very busy.

Following Tieran’s competition, the comrades took a quick respite for the midday meal and then headed over to the second arena to witness the First and Second Tier afternoon bouts. Reaylin won all three of her matches but took five hits. Malcius and Brandt each won their first matches but, by an unfortunate twist of fate, ended up paired against each other for the second. Malcius won that match, and each went on to win their third matches, as well.

At the end of the day, all four of Rezkin’s companions who had competed scored low enough to move on to the second round. The participants insisted on taking Rezkin out to celebrate, crediting his tutelage for the wins. After securing a private room at a tavern designated The Tipsy Tankard, the group settled into their food and drink.

Malcius raised his tankard and said, “My thanks to Rezkin, for I know I would not have performed so well had it not been for his expert guidance.”

“Here, here,” replied Tieran, Brandt, and Reaylin in unison.

“I never really expected to get through the first round,” Reaylin remarked. “I was worried I wouldn’t be able to compete at all.” The young woman had barely made it into the second round, having been the last to make the cut. “No one can claim that I am not a warrior, now. I made it into the second round of the King’s Tournament!” Tournament organizers did not allow just anyone to compete. One had to be a competent swordsman just to make it into the First Tier.

“During the last King’s Tournament, I competed in the Second Tier. This year I made the Third. I probably would have had trouble with many of last year’s opponents this year, if not for Rezkin’s teaching,” Captain Jimson commented.

Competing in a higher tier did not automatically imply that one could best all of the opponents in the lower tiers. If one scored high enough in a tier, he or she could be forced to compete in the next tier in subsequent competitions, but otherwise, a competitor might choose to compete in a lower tier for a better chance at winning. Most participants, however, opted to fight in the highest tier possible because the recognition, honor, and potential prizes were that much higher.

As a member of the King’s Army, a Third Tier competitor mark on his record would have much more weight than a Second Tier mark, even if he finished higher in the Second Tier ranks. Higher tier competitors could expect better wages from mercenary companies and as merchant or House guards; and nobles competed at higher tiers simply for the bragging rights.

“I am concerned about Lord Hespion,” Brandt commented.

Rezkin’s ears perked. “What of Hespion?” the warrior asked. Tieran was focused, now, as well.

“There is speculation that he concealed his skill during the pre-trials to intentionally receive a lower ranking,” Brandt stated.

“Why would he do that?” asked Frisha.

“Because then he was pitted against lesser opponents in the opening matches so that he would pass into the next round with a better ratio,” Malcius explained. “I placed higher than he in the pre-trials, but I am going into the second round with a two-three, while Hespion has a none-three.”

Frisha’s brow furrowed. “That doesn’t seem right. Surely someone would speak out against such underhanded tactics.”

“There is not much anyone can do about it. It is a matter of honor, and this just shows how little he has,” Brandt argued heatedly.

“It is not just that,” Tieran interjected. “He is a guest of Ytrevius, as well, and he attempted to use some sort of subtle magic on Rezkin yesterday in my very presence! Then, there is the little matter of someone attempting to poison me. You had best stay vigilant around Hespion. I would not put anything past the man.”

“Wait…someone tried to poison you?” Malcius exclaimed. “And you think it was Hespion?”

Tieran sniffed and said, “I do not know who it was, but I would not believe it beyond him. He is the worst kind of noble. I may have been arrogant and pretentious…”

“May have been?” Frisha interrupted with a teasing grin.

Tieran rolled his eyes with a slight smile and continued, “…but Hespion is ambitious and cunning. If he has his mind set on winning the Second Tier competition, then you had best watch your backs.”

When the meal was finished and the group was passing back through the common room, Palis and Brandt paused when they overheard someone with a thick Verrilian accent say, “…and this True King cannot be any worse than what they have now.”

“If I were King Trent, I would support him,” a second Verrilian said gruffly, Trent being the reigning king of Verril. “If he is smart, the True King will open up trade again.”

“But you are not the king, and of course you would want trade open again. It is our business,” the first remarked. Both men were thickly muscled and looked to have worked out of doors for their entire lives.

“What was that?” Palis said quietly as he approached the two men. “You said something about the True King.”

“Mind your own business, boy,” the first said. “Our conversation does not concern you.”

“No, wait, I just want to know about the True King,” Palis said. “What have you heard?”

“I know not of what you speak. We said nothing of the sort,” the second stated with increasing hostility.

“Come, Palis,” Rezkin said as he grasped the young man’s arm. “Let us go.”

“But, they said…” Palis sputtered.

“They know nothing more than rumors. We are leaving,” the warrior commanded.

Palis sighed but turned to leave. “They know something about…”

“No, they do not,” Rezkin asserted as they kept walking to catch up with the others. “Palis, you must watch yourself. If anyone heard those two discussing such things, there is a chance they may only be arrested and deported. If anyone overheard you speaking so, the consequences would be much worse, and not just for you.”

Brandt had seen the exchange and was waiting not far away. “Besides,” the young noble remarked, “you cannot afford to get in a fight right now. You must compete tomorrow.”

Palis scowled at Brandt as they rejoined the group. “If I were injured, Reaylin could heal me.”

“Like Hells I will,” the young woman scoffed.

“Could you at least try to sound more like a lady?” asked Palis incredulously.

“First you want me to be a healer, and now you want me to be a lady,” Reaylin snorted. “I do not have to be either, thank the Maker.”

“I am pretty sure the Maker intended you to be a healer,” Palis argued. “It was the Maker who blessed you with the power, after all.” Reaylin huffed and stomped ahead.

“You are not winning any points with her,” Brandt observed.

“I do not care to win points with Reaylin,” Palis retorted.

Brandt chuckled and said, “You might care when you come back from the tournament looking like a stuck pig.”

“There are healers at the tournament,” Palis replied.

“That will do you little good if you get yourself pummeled in a bar fight,” his friend remarked.

Palis sighed. “You are right. I did not think things through. I was just eager to hear what others knew of…him. I was surprised to hear anyone speaking of him at all, since I had never heard word before this journey.”

“Well, if those two know something, then it is almost certain that others will. I am sure we will hear more. Try not to get us into trouble,” Brandt remarked.

Palis stopped and stared at his friend with gaping mouth. “Are you telling me not to cause trouble? You – the perpetual trouble maker.”

Brandt shook his head and said, “This is serious, Palis – very serious. It is no joking matter.” Malcius, Shiela and Tieran were all looking at Brandt as though he had just sprouted horns.

Palis could find no words for a moment. He finally asked, “Who are you, and what have you done with Brandt? I never thought to hear anything so mature or sensible come out of your mouth.”

Brandt frowned and heatedly whispered, “I am not an idiot, Palis. This is not a matter of embarrassing my father or irritating the pompous twits at court. It is a mater of life and death – for an entire kingdom!”

Several passersby turned their heads to stare at the group that was standing in the street having a quiet, heated discussion. Rezkin announced, “I think it is best we return to the inns. People are beginning to take notice, and most of you have to compete tomorrow and need your rest.”

“You never rest,” Malcius muttered.

“Of course I rest,” Rezkin replied.

“No, you don’t,” Tam retorted.

“What?” Rezkin asked, surprised to hear Tam’s input.

“You’re always out late. I never see you return, but you’re there in the morning, whether the door is barred or not. You even manage to get around Wesson’s wards. It’s like you walk through walls or something,” Tam argued.

“I noticed the same thing on the ship,” Malcius observed.

“You mean he’s not in your room at night?” Frisha interrupted. She narrowed her eyes at Rezkin and said, “Where exactly are you going in the middle of the night?”

“I have business to which I must attend,” Rezkin stated. “Business of which Tam is aware,” the warrior said, giving Tam a pointed look.

Tam’s eyes widened, and he swallowed. “Uh, right – nothing to concern yourself over, Frisha.”

“I do not stay out all night. I simply turn in later than the rest of you,” Rezkin informed them.

“And get up hours ahead of us, as well,” Malcius grumbled. “I do not see how you can keep such a schedule. I need more sleep than that. Sometimes I swear you are not human.”

“It is the schedule to which I am accustomed,” Rezkin replied as though it was of no consequence. In truth, he wondered why it was that people kept claiming he was not human.

When the group finally arrived, they separated to their respective inns. Rezkin decided it was a good time to pay a visit of an investigatory nature to the duke’s manor. The young warrior did not bother with the pretense of sleeping before he slipped out of the inn. Tieran and Wesson knew he was up to something, but neither questioned him.

Getting in to the estate was of little consequence. While the outer doors and perimeter were heavily guarded, it seemed no one was particularly concerned with the prospect of people entering from above. Rezkin scaled a recessed outer wall and then dropped down from the roof into the central practice courtyard. He had to pick a few locks and dislodge several door bars, but he eventually made it to the inner chamber into which the mole-man had escaped. The warrior slipped into the darkness, and when he was certain no one was present, he slipped a mage stone from his pocket. The thumb-sized stone released a faint glow just bright enough to light his way with little chance of being seen through the cracks in the doorframe.

The room was essentially empty, aside from a long table, several chairs and a few tapestries. Even more disconcerting, there were no other doors or windows through which the man could have escaped. Had the mole met with someone in this room and then left through the same door after Rezkin had gone? The warrior wished he could have stayed and pursued the man further, but Tieran’s immediate safety had been uncertain.

Rezkin ran his hands over the walls and checked behind tapestries just in case there was a secret passageway. It would be odd for such a room not to have one, considering it only had one door. Just as he was about to give up, he felt a faint tingling near his foot. He crouched low and ran his fingers over the stones between the legs of the table. Noting the cracks between them, he decided there was, in fact, a secret passageway from the room, but it was guarded by a mage ward. He could probably get past the ward, but it could tip off the mage who had laid it as effectively as raising an alarm. This particular ward gave him the feeling that it was monitored closely, and it somehow felt different from the wards he had encountered at the Golden Trust Bank.

Obviously, the secret portal led to an underground tunnel or room. Rezkin wondered if the subterranean space could be accessed from any of the adjoining rooms. It was possible there was another forgotten entrance the mage failed to ward or on which the ward had degraded with time. Rezkin could not afford to spend all of his time this night searching for secret passageways. He needed to get more substantial evidence.

The guards were fewer within the manor, but the abode was heavily fortified with mage wards. If he truly wanted to get into any of the more interesting places, he was really going to have to work at it…or bring along a mage…perhaps one who claimed to be able to easily break mage wards. Despite the security measures, Rezkin did eventually find an unwarded entrance to the hidden wall passages in a broom cupboard. It was obvious the passage had not been used in a very long time, perhaps a couple of hundred years. He had to use quite a bit of oil and back strength to get the thing to open. Once he was inside, he scattered a grey powder across the portal to simulate the years of accumulated dust so no one would mark his passing.

The inner passageway lacked most of the security measures prevalent in the rest of the mansion. The spy finally stepped from behind a tapestry into the duke’s private office. The ward around the entrance appeared to be designed to stop him from entering at all; but once he forced his way through, he felt no tingling sensation radiating from the ward. This meant it was unlikely anyone had been alerted to his presence.

Rezkin had been trained thoroughly on how to identify different types of wards by the feel of the energy. He had been mostly certain this one would not sound an alarm once he passed through. Using the focus techniques associated with his Mage Power Defense Skill, he had been able to bypass the ward and its intended effects. If he sensed the ward correctly, the interaction would have ended with him burned to a crisp or turned inside out or some other ghastly fate.

Rezkin surveyed the room and its contents. Aside from a few missives regarding questionable trade practices, he found nothing of interest. The duke was a cunning man, though, and he would likely be intelligent enough to know not to store truly important documents in such an obvious place as his office. The spy searched the connecting library and then passed into another secret corridor that had been hidden behind a bookcase. Secret passageways were always hidden behind tapestries and bookcases or under rugs. It was cliché, but only people like Rezkin would be looking for them, and the extra locks, bars and wards were there to defend against people like him. Unfortunately for the targets, all of these security measures did little good against The Raven.

Beyond the bookcase was another small, empty room with not even a rug or table. The spy could feel the energy wafting off the floor, though, and he knew he had found another entrance to the underground space. Considering the distance and direction to the other entrance, the underground space had to either be massive, underlying at least half the manor house or consist of an extensive system of corridors. This one, again, was odd and gave Rezkin the feeling it would sound an alarm if breached.

There was almost always a secret entrance to subterranean corridors from somewhere off the estate grounds, but it could take him weeks to find it. Rezkin simply did not have that kind of time. He would have to try to convince Wesson to join him for an excursion, but the journeyman was not his vassal. Wesson was merely a paid employee, and he would probably reject the idea of breaking into the home of a sitting duke. The mage already knew far too much for one who had sworn no loyalty or allegiance, and Rezkin did not want to risk distancing the young man. He would have to consider his options carefully.

The warrior-spy eventually made his way up to the duke’s chambers. Two of the duke’s House Guard stood sentry outside the door. This was good. It meant the door to the suite was probably only weakly warded, if at all. Men like this were severely bored with standing guard all night in front of a door that no one ever approached. They would be over eager to investigate anything unusual.

Rezkin slipped back into the secret passageway and followed the scents for a short distance. Eventually, he found what he was seeking and snatched it up quickly. He made his way back to the corridor opposite the guards and began tapping intermittently on the stone floor.

“Did you hear that?” one guard quietly asked the other.

“Yes, I should go check it out,” the second quickly offered.

“No, I will go. You stay here and guard the door,” the first proposed.

“Hhh, fine, but hurry up,” the second said.

The warrior set the pudgy rat before a small hole in the base of the wall and clipped its tail between two boards within the secret passage so it could not run away. He quickly made his way back through the hidden passageway and noted that the taller of the two guards had left his post. Rezkin cracked a side door and slipped a shutter open. The window was barely more than an arrow slit and could not possibly fit a person, but it easily allowed a draft to pass through. The torch on the opposite corridor began flickering violently, casting strange shadows across the walls that could be seen from the hall in which the guard stood.

The spy made his way back to the other side of the corridor and snuck up silently behind the guard whose attention was turned to the flickering shadows in the opposite hall. The guard’s attention was abruptly drawn to the first guard rounding the corner as he stared down at a large dead rat in his hands. Rezkin tipped the latch and slipped through the door.

“What have you there?” asked the second guard.

“It was nothing but a rat that got himself stuck climbing out of a hole. He is a fat one, too,” the other guard stated.

Their voices were muffled as the door latched shut behind the intruder. That particular entry had been a close one, and Rezkin had nearly been caught. He was lucky no one was present in the outer chamber when he entered, as well. Rezkin decided the duke must be an expert in wards, because even the palace had not been so heavily warded. It was no wonder the man believed he was safe with the light guard staff if he was overconfident in his wards.

The duke’s personal suite consisted of an outer sitting room, a study, and the bedroom. Rezkin rifled through a table in the sitting room just to be thorough and then entered the study. None of the wards within the suite were spelled to do any damage. They were solely meant to dissuade anyone from entering where he or she should not. Rezkin was unaffected as he kept his focus. The duke’s study proved to be a bit more interesting but not immediately useful. It seemed the man was having an affair with Lady Chiselia, the unmarried daughter of Baron Esceran whose meager lands were contained within the duchy in the southeastern portion of the island.

Rezkin idly wondered if the duke intended to do away with his wife and take a younger bride in hopes of getting a male heir. The young woman was less than half the duke’s age and considered herself a poet if her torrid love letters were any indication. Rezkin nearly smiled at his fortune. He may have to take a half-day to visit the Esceran estate and see if he could find a matching set. It was perfect blackmail material if nothing else. If the duchess did come to an untimely end, the letters could be used as proof against the duke if someone questioned his involvement. Still, this was not the information for which Rezkin was looking. The duke had been smart enough to keep that kind of proof carefully hidden or destroyed. Rezkin wondered if Hespion would have been so careful.

Having spent several hours perusing the duke’s estate already, Rezkin decided to investigate Hespion’s quarters at a later time when the man was not in his chambers. The young warrior knew a secret passageway extended from somewhere within the duke’s quarters, but he had other ideas for his grand exit. The only window leading to the outside was in the duke’s sleeping chamber. The ward on the chamber door was strong and set to permit entry only by certain people. Rezkin had previously been trained how to outwit such a ward, but at least now he understood how the ward was constructed, after speaking with Wesson about aura reading.

Rezkin intently focused on the ward and willed it to believe he was one of those who were permitted to pass. After a few intense moments, the ward gave way and Rezkin passed through without the alarm sounding. Truly, mage wards were not as spectacular as the mages thought them to be if a simple mundane could defeat them with nothing more than a focused mind. Rezkin pondered for a moment whether or not he should attempt to investigate the duke’s wardrobes and trunks but ultimately decided against it. It was unlikely the man would leave anything to be found by the chambermaids or even his wife, if she was not in on the plots. He could always return later when the duke was not present, and it would be much easier to go about his business of spying on the man.

The warrior-spy knew that as soon as he opened the window, a ward would alert the duke. He had already prepared for this and integrated it into a larger plan. His swords were strapped to his back, rather than his hips, and he drew around him a dark raggedy cloak, pulling the hood low over his face. The hood was stiff and stood out far enough not to block his sight but cast his face in shadow so that only his mouth could be seen.

The duke jolted awake as an alarm buzzed through his veins and sounded loudly in his mind. In an instant he had gathered his energy and formed a general shield around himself. Before his eyes had even fully focused on the dark room, he was preparing an attack. A pale blue flame revolved in his hand in a small ball of pulsing light and swirling shadows. Ytrevius’s eyes finally fell on the figure crouched in his windowsill bathed in silver moonlight. It was a wraith or a man, and it had breached his personal sanctuary. The figure moved no further into the room.

The duke knew not why it waited, but neither did he care to discover its intents. He lobbed the blue flame at the figure, and in the split second it took to sail the short distance, Ytrevius had already formed another. He had not yet launched the second when the first splashed against the figure and ran off like water to no effect. The crouching figure grinned an eerie smile with glowing white teeth on a dark, shadowed face. Ytrevius was horrified to realize that not only did his blue flame have no effect, but he also felt absolutely no mage power emanating from the being. With whatever power the thing wielded, it could not be human.

The maw gaped open and out poured a deep and hollow voice. “The True King rises. Lend him your blade or fall on his.”

Before the duke could take a breath, the creature was out the window. Ytrevius lurched forward and peered out the third floor window, looking all around the dark grounds. He could see no movement save for that of the guards who were patrolling as usual. The wraith had completely disappeared, and not one of his guards had taken notice of the fiend, nor had any of the outside wards reacted to its presence. What kind of creature can walk through wards and bathe in blue flame with not a care? Not a creature of this world, the duke thought to himself as his quivering bladder alerted him to more immediate concerns.

Rezkin arrived back at the inn three or four hours before his normal time to rise. Since the inn’s outside doors were locked and barred, Rezkin decided it would be easier to slip in through the window. His room was on the second floor, and the lip of the sill was nearly nonexistent. He swung down from the roof and teetered on the tips of his toes before lifting one leg and pressing his back to brace himself in the inset that was only a few inches deep.

The warrior peered through the glass and spied his companions asleep in their beds. With a frown, he noted the knife tucked under the window in the manner he had shown Tam. Tam was not supposed to be in the room, though. Perhaps Wesson picked up the habit, the warrior pondered. It was unlikely since Wesson would probably depend on his wards just as much as the duke. Rezkin disengaged the trap easily and pressed through Wesson’s ward with barely a thought. After closing the window and reapplying the knife trap, Rezkin turned and removed the tattered cloak.

A small motion in the darkness caught his attention, and a mage flame appeared over Wesson’s outstretched hand. The mage and Tieran were lounging in their beds, Malcius was pulling himself up from Rezkin’s bed, and Tam stood from where he had been laying on the floor. The warrior simply looked at the traitorous cohorts and said, “What?”

Malcius’s surprise was evident when he answered, “We wanted to know how you do it.”

Tam scowled and argued, “What is the point of putting the knife there if you can so easily get around it?”

Rezkin raised a brow and said, “The knife was not meant to keep me out. It was meant to alert you if someone else tried to get in. Few others would know to look for it.”

Tieran scurried over to peer out the window. “How did you get up here? We are on the second floor, and there is no ledge or sill.”

The warrior shook his head and replied, “There are plenty of handholds, and I am strong enough to hold my own weight.”

Wesson crossed his arms like a disapproving master and said, “That does not explain how you got through my ward. You just walked through it like it was nothing but air, and I did not even feel anything.”

“I told you before – it just takes focus,” Rezkin answered offhandedly as he sat on his bed and began removing his boots.

“Focus?” the mage scoffed. “It takes years for a trained mage to be able to break through a ward like that, which would alert the caster, and that is exactly what you have to do in order to get through it,” Wesson protested.

Rezkin lifted a brow and looked at the mage as he tugged off a stocking.

The three observed the warrior’s appearance carefully, and Tam remarked, “I have never seen you wear your swords like that.”

Having finished removing his footwear, Rezkin began pulling at the blackened buckles on the black leather straps he used to carry his swords on his back. As he removed the harness he replied, “They would get in the way on my hips. It would be more difficult to get through windows without making a noise.”

“Do you have to go through windows often?” Malcius inquired with suspicion.

“When it is necessary,” Rezkin grumbled. “Why are you here, Malcius? You have to compete today.”

Malcius frowned and said, “I slept while they waited up. I can sleep later, if necessary. I am not to compete until the afternoon. You are avoiding the subject.”

“What subject is that?” Rezkin asked as he began pulling knives, small spinning blades and needles from his outer tunic and setting them neatly in a row on his mattress. When he was finished, he removed the outer tunic to reveal a several more daggers strapped to his arms and torso. Malcius lost his line of thought as he watched Rezkin remove a small arsenal from his person.

“Since you all are here and awake, you can help me oil my blades,” Rezkin announced.

Four sets of eyes glanced up at him from the pile of silver and blackened metal lying on the bed. “Is that all?” Tieran asked incredulously.

Rezkin smirked and said, “Of course not. That is only the outer layer, but I am not disrobing for you to find the rest. A warrior must keep some secrets.”

“By the Maker, Rezkin, why would you carry so many weapons? You look as if you are going to war as a one-man army,” Tieran remarked.

“I cannot believe that you, of all people, would question that,” Rezkin replied.

Tieran was suddenly reminded that he had just sworn fealty to the man in hopes that he would, in fact, arrest the throne from a mad tyrant and somehow do so without an army at his back. When Tieran first learned of the True King, Kai had said that the man possessed the power and skills to do so. Tieran was beginning to realize that Rezkin’s list of skills went far beyond those of a normal lord. “I suppose I see your point. I guess I was just wondering why you were carrying them tonight.”

Rezkin shrugged and said, “I have most of these on me at all times. My business tonight could have called for more, so I compensated. Fortunately, I did not need them.”

“What kind of business were you up to?” Malcius exclaimed with horror.

“King’s business,” Rezkin said sternly with a look that warned the young noble not to ask any more questions.

“He is here – here in Skutton, is he not? I have been hearing rumors of him where there were none before,” Malcius replied excitedly.

The others looked to Rezkin expectantly, but the warrior simply said, “You and your brother had best keep your distance from anything having to do with him, at least for now.”

Malcius frowned and replied, “Why, Rezkin? Are you the only one who is permitted to concern yourself with the welfare of the kingdom?”

Rezkin responded, “It is dangerous, Malcius. Palis could have gotten into serious trouble at the tavern.”

The Jebai ran a frustrated hand through his loose hair and said, “I know, but he would not be so careless if you let him in.”

“Let him in to what, Malcius?” Rezkin asked with exasperation. “Would you have him serve the True King? Would you have him swear fealty to a man you do not know and risk his life and the lives of your family, your entire House? What of your father? Would he disown Palis for doing so? Would you? Because, if he were found out, that would be the only recourse that might save your lives; and then you would be expected to fight your own brother. If he were caught, Caydean would likely have you kill Palis, yourself, to prove your loyalty.”

Malcius’s face turned pale. “No, I did not say that Palis should serve him. He only wishes to know more about the man,” the young lord argued. “He wants to meet him.”

“Malcius, word is spreading. The war has started. You cannot seek out such a man without being expected to choose a side. You still have time. It will start here, and it will spread. By the time it reaches you and your House, the balance of power and support will be more defined. Are you truly ready to join the war now?” Rezkin asked.

The young lord swallowed as he pondered the implications. “You think he would consider us enemies if we did not join him?”

“He is a king, Malcius – the rightful king of a corrupted throne. Within this kingdom, particularly within the nobility, there can be no neutral parties. You are either with him or against him,” Rezkin asserted.

“But, you said he did not even want the throne,” the young lord protested.

The warrior shook his head and said, “You cannot wage a war with half measures, Malcius. He has decided it is his responsibility to take what was granted into his care, and to do so, he must be ruthless and effective.”

Tieran stepped forward, and Rezkin gave him a warning look. “You forget to whom you speak, Malcius. Your knowledge of Rezkin’s close association with the True King makes you a threat. Most generals would force you to choose a side now. Those who openly support the True King in the beginning will endure the most scrutiny and the harshest punishments. The fact that Rezkin has given you this time and does not demand your fealty to the king demonstrates the high level of friendship and trust he feels for you. The king has certain responsibilities to his subjects to keep them safe, and leaving loose ends such as you, is a risk that I am not certain he should be taking. Should he care more for you than for his cause…than for his subjects?”

“I would never betray Rezkin,” Malcius retorted.

“You have sworn no allegiance. If you do not support the True King, then you must support Caydean,” Tieran argued.

“I have not claimed to support either one over the other,” Malcius protested.

“Malcius, you are a noble. The very nature of your position demands that you owe fealty to the king. You can either choose to serve the rightful king or the usurper who sits upon the throne, but you must serve one of them,” said the duke’s son.

“And you? You speak as though you have already decided,” Malcius observed.

“We are discussing your service to the crown, not mine,” Tieran replied.

“Well, I think it is important,” Malcius argued. “With Thresson gone, your father aging, and Caydean having no interest in producing an heir, you will be the next king, unless you choose to serve this True King. Doing so will cost you the crown. Your opinion is important, Tieran – probably the most important opinion in the kingdom. If you recognize him as the rightful king, the rest of us may as well by default, for the True King will wear the crown upon Caydean’s death, regardless.”

Tieran stared at Malcius. “Did you not hear me earlier when I said that someone tried to poison me? My word only carries weight so long as I am alive and appear sane enough to make the claim.”

“What is your claim, Tieran?” Malcius asked outright.

Tieran straightened and looked at Malcius with calculation. Rezkin glanced up from where he was polishing and oiling his blades. Finally, the young lord said, “I have already sworn fealty to the True King.”

Malcius’s jaw dropped. “You met him?”

Tieran shifted uncomfortably and said, “I have.”

“Then, what is the point in arguing this, Tieran? You have already handed him the throne,” Malcius said with exasperation.

“King Bordran handed him the throne, not I,” Tieran argued.

“You have seen his proof, then?” Malcius inquired.

“I have, and it is impressive. More than that, though, I discovered that he is of the bloodline,” Tieran said as he struggled to keep his eyes from darting to Rezkin.

“What?” Malcius and Tam exclaimed at the same time. Tam had not known of the test Wesson performed.

Tieran rubbed his chin thoughtfully and said, “I do not know how exactly, but we are definitely closely related.”

“So his claim is legitimate by king’s decree and by blood,” Malcius stated thoughtfully. “Then, I will swear fealty to him as well. Even if I do not publicly announce my allegiance, the king will know that he has my support when he needs it,” Malcius said proudly.

Rezkin began packing away his assortment of weapons and said, “After the tournament. If you still wish to do so, then I will reveal him to you after the tournament.”

Malcius frowned. “What has the tournament to do with anything?”

Rezkin raised a brow and said, “He is competing.”

“The True King is competing in the tournament?” Malcius exclaimed incredulously.

“What better way for a king to prove his mettle and gain the attention and admiration of the people than to win the King’s Tournament?” Wesson remarked. The others looked at Wesson with a startled glance. They had nearly forgotten the mage’s presence.

Malcius’s brow furrowed. “But, all of the noble Fifth Tier competitors are known except…” His eyes widened in realization. Rezkin and Tieran both gave him a look that said he should have caught on much sooner. “Dark Tidings is the True King?” he exclaimed. The noble’s face froze as he thought back to the two occasions on which he had seen the figure. The man was dangerous and imposing. His demeanor exuded confidence and demanded obeisance. His command and authority was non-negotiable, and no one questioned that he had the power to impose his will. Malcius had always been in awe of the strikers, but even they could not hold a candle to Dark Tidings.

“Of course he is the king,” Malcius muttered. “What if he does not win?” he asked with concern.

Tieran, Tam and Wesson all looked at Rezkin questioningly. Apparently, the same concern had run through their minds. “He will,” Rezkin stated with confidence as he slipped the leather roll of weapons into his pack.

“How can you be so certain?” Malcius asked.

“Because he is better than his opponents,” Rezkin stated simply.

“Is he better than you?” the young noble inquired.

Rezkin paused and then said, “No, I cannot say that he is better. We are of the same Skill level.”

Malcius considered Rezkin thoughtfully, “So, that is why you did not enter the tournament. He could not have you competing against him.”

“No, I could not have competed against him,” Rezkin agreed truthfully.

The young noble narrowed his eyes at his friend, but before he could speak, Rezkin said, “It is late, Malcius. The sun will rise in a couple of hours, and it would be best if we get some rest.”

Malcius glanced at the window and then nodded. His own inn would be locked up tight at this hour. Rezkin tossed him a blanket and said, “I am taking back my bed.”

The young lord groaned and whined, “But I have to compete this afternoon.”

“You should have thought of that before you ambushed me from my own bed,” Rezkin retorted.

Chapter 22

The next couple of days were busy for everyone. On the second day of the tournament, Reaylin was to compete first during the morning session in the second arena. The second round of the Second Tier competition was to be held in the afternoon in the same arena. Unfortunately, Malcius and Brandt’s competition was held at the same time that Palis and Jimson would be competing in the first round of the Third Tier competition in the main arena, so the friends had to split their attendance between them. After the day’s end, the group met back at the Sun Coast Inn for dinner and ale.

“I am not angry that I lost. I am angry that he beat me in such an underhanded manner,” Brandt fumed. “By all rights, he should be banned from the tournament indefinitely, but, instead, I sit here a loser while he goes on to compete in the third round.”

“What did the judges say?” Captain Jimson inquired.

“They said they saw nothing,” the young noble huffed. “Pressing the matter would only have made me look like a sore loser and an embarrassment.”

“What happened?” Frisha asked. The young woman had gone to see Palis and Jimson’s first matches and had missed whatever happened to Brandt. To their excitement, Palis and Jimson had both scored well enough to enter the second round of the Third Tier competition.

Brandt sighed. “Hespion was my third opponent. I had already accrued three points in my first two matches, but if I did well against Hespion, I might have made it to the third round. I was nervous, but I really was not that worried. I do not believe he is as good a dueler as he thinks he is. Anyway, we went at each other with a few test strikes, and suddenly he just trips and falls – for no reason! I should have known something was up, but my blood was surging, and I moved in to take advantage of his slipup. The next thing I know, I am blind and my eyes are burning. He makes three strikes before I can clear my eyes, and I am out!

“The ground in the arena is packed hard. It is not so simple to kick up dust. It was easy to see later where he scored the ground with his pommel and tossed the dirt in my face. He made it look like an accident. He said he tripped on a rock and must have accidentally tossed up some dirt when he was recovering, but no one could find any such rock. Regardless, the judges accepted the win and now I am out.”

“It was a dirty trick – ah, no pun intended,” Malcius remarked. “If they had been fighting in the Melee it would have been an acceptable move, but this was the dueling tournament.”

“I am sorry that happened to you, Brandt,” Frisha said with sympathetic eyes. “Is there nothing that can be done?”

Malcius grinned. “Of course there is. I am fighting Hespion tomorrow, and I will make him look the fool.”

The following day, Malcius met Hespion for his second bout. The young noble had watched Hespion closely during the previous matches and caught on to the man’s shady tactics. When he faced Duke Atressian’s son in the arena, Malcius was wary and ready for whatever the cheat would deliver.

Rezkin, Tieran, Frisha, Tam, Reaylin, Shiela and Wesson were all in the lower stands nearest the competitors. A couple of the Jebai House Guards and Sergeant Millins sat in the rows behind the lords. Waylen had also made it into the third round of the First Tier competition and was competing in the same arena at the same time, so the companions were able to watch both matches. If the matches wound up quickly, the companions could potentially catch Palis and Jimson’s matches in the first arena. It was unfortunate that all three tiers were competing at the same time, but the organizers had left the afternoon clear for the opening bouts of the Melee competition. Everyone was excited to attend that particular event.

After Malcius’s first match, he had about ten minutes to recover before he faced Hespion. He had done well against his first opponent, disarming him without acquiring a single scratch. He walked over to retrieve his waterskin and drank deeply. He paced back and forth and stretched his limbs to keep warm and limber. As Malcius bent down to touch his toes, he swayed forward and collided with the ground. Thoroughly embarrassed, he shook his head, but the arena refused to stop spinning when he stopped. At least, he thought he stopped. Was he still shaking his head? He did not think so. Malcius pushed himself to his feet and stumbled into the wall. Where did that come from? Surely it had been several feet away before he fell.

Most of the companions’ attention was on Waylen who was facing off against his first opponent of the day. Rezkin was the first to notice Malcius stumbling around. He leaned over Tieran’s shoulder and quietly asked, “Do you have that antidote I gave you in case you were poisoned?”

“Yes, why?” Tieran asked, suddenly alert.

Rezkin nodded in Malcius’s direction, and Tieran spied his friend just as Malcius stumbled over his own feet and face-planted in the dirt for the second time. Both men leapt up and descended to the edge of the arena nearest Malcius. Rezkin kept an eye on his friend as he motioned for Tieran to give him the packet of antidote. It was no coincidence that Malcius was suddenly bumbling around like a drunkard when he was about to compete against one of their primary suspects in the attempted poisoning of Tieran.

The two men slipped over the wall and landed beside Malcius who was nearly unconscious by that point. They dragged him over to the wall and propped him up with his legs splayed haphazardly and his eyes unfocussed and listless. Rezkin ordered Tieran to grab a waterskin – not the one belonging to Malcius – while he tilted the young man’s head back and poured the bitter powder into his mouth. Malcius sputtered and attempted to spit out the antidote, but Rezkin held his mouth shut with a firm hand under his jaw. Tieran skidded to a stop beside his friend and poured water into Malcius’s mouth until the young man had swallowed several mouthfuls.

One of the officials and a healer approached just as Tieran was stoppering the waterskin. “What is going on here?” the official asked with more than a little accusation in his voice.

“Is that young man alright?” the healer questioned with a bit more concern. She was a middle-aged woman of average height with a voluptuous figure and mousy brown hair. Her stern countenance was only softened by the worry that showed in her grey eyes.

Tieran opened his mouth to speak, but Rezkin interrupted. “It is nothing – a combination of heat and nerves. He will be well in a moment.”

The woman pushed forward and bent to check the young noble. Malcius sat with his head laid back and eyes closed, but his breathing was becoming more even, and he was no longer slumping to one side. The healer used her thumb to pull back each of his eyelids and checked his pulse. Malcius found that he was finally able to focus enough to see the woman’s face. He would have startled at the close proximity of the stranger had he the energy and wherewithal to do so. She laid her hands on the sides of his face, and he felt a sudden rush of warmth and a tingling sensation flow through his limp body.

The woman gasped and stood abruptly. She rounded on the two men who had been accosting the young competitor. “This young man has been poisoned!”

The official started and stepped forward quickly as though to apprehend one or both of the men, but the woman held her arm out to stop the man. “I cannot determine the type of poison with such a brief examination, but I can see that he has already been given an antidote. It works quickly. Explain.”

The world would not stop spinning, and Malcius was certain his skin was being scorched over a roasting spit while his insides were quivering as though he had plunged into an icy lake. The young noble lurched to the side and vomited on the packed dirt. Rezkin caught Tieran’s eye and said, “Give him the other packet. I am afraid he just lost some of what we gave him.” Tieran’s eyes darted between the official and the healer, but when it became apparent neither would stop him, he moved to do Rezkin’s bidding.

The healer frowned down at the two young men and then returned her attention to Rezkin, who was obviously in charge. “Who are you and what is going on here?”

Rezkin bowed slightly and said, “The man on the ground over there is Malcius Jebai. The one tending to him is Tieran Nirius of Wellinven, and I am Rezkin, Master Healer of the Mundane. Lord Malcius was indeed poisoned, but I have administered the antidote. He will be well enough in a few moments.”

The woman crossed her arms and raised a skeptical brow. “You are a Master Healer? You are not old enough to be a healer, much less a master; and you certainly do not look like a healer.”

“I should say not,” the official added. He was a stout, balding man with broad shoulders and thick arms. He was built like a boulder but covered in enough hair below the neck to be mistaken for a bear. “Are you a competitor?” he asked Rezkin, his gruff voice carrying over the noise of the crowd in a boisterous grumble. This man spoke from the gut as though he was used to delivering speeches or bellowing orders. Based on his appearance and carriage, Rezkin would say it was the latter. “You are not wearing an arm band, yet you show up here carrying two swords into the arena during the competition.”

“I am not competing in this competition,” Rezkin replied. “I was tending to my charge,” he said as he motioned to the young man who was now sitting up on his own.

The healer narrowed her eyes and said, “What was the poison and what did you give him to counteract it?”

“It was triania extract, and I gave him a solument powder mixture,” Rezkin replied.

The skeptical woman fisted her hands on her hips and asked, “Why did you not give him terandian root oil?”

Rezkin furrowed his brow as though confused, even though he knew the woman was testing him. “Why would I give him that? Terandian root oil is used to treat wyrmwood poisoning, and if I had given it to him, it would have reacted badly with the triania and probably killed him.”

A look of surprise passed across the woman’s face for only a second, and then she pursed her lips and asked, “Where did you purchase the solument powder?”

“I made it myself,” Rezkin replied.

The healer scoffed but asked, “How much powdered caerdom did you use?”

Rezkin rolled his eyes as if the notion was ridiculous, which it was. “You know as well as I that caerdom is not used in making solument powder. If you are satisfied with your little test, may we move on? It seems that one of us should be checking on the patient, especially since he is to compete in a few moments.”

The official and the healer both sputtered and gasped. “The man was just poisoned. He cannot compete in his condition,” the healer argued.

Rezkin shook his head and said, “Perhaps we should ask him?”

Tieran had helped Malcius to his feet, and the young man was attempting to shake off the effects of the poisoning and warm his muscles again by bending and bouncing. When he noticed everyone staring at him, he stopped and nodded to the official and healer. “I am okay, now, I think. It seems to have passed. I do not feel as hale as I did earlier, but I am not going to let it keep me out of the competition.”

The official and the healer both wore astonished expressions, each a mixture of disapproval and awe. “You could not possibly have recovered so quickly,” the woman said in disbelief.

Malcius simply shrugged as though completely unconcerned. In reality he was reeling from his experience. Everything had happened so quickly. In less than ten minutes he had gone from the excited rush and anticipation of competition to a horribly miserable state of intoxication and loss of faculties and then back again just as quickly. Because of the attempted poisoning of Tieran, he knew full well that it was his next opponent who had poisoned him, and he was determined to see the man put down – at least as far as the competition was concerned. Malcius told himself not to worry about the consequences to his health from the poisoning. He had complete faith in Rezkin, and if Rezkin thought he could compete, then he was damn well going to compete.

Rezkin walked over to his friend and, much to the young noble’s embarrassment, scoured every inch of Malcius’s body looking for needles or powders. When he found nothing, he retrieved Malcius’s waterskin and sniffed its contents. Unfortunately, triania extract had little or no smell, so he could not tell if the water had been contaminated. The warrior handed the waterskin to the healer who stared at it questioningly. The woman then waved at a mage who was standing not far away keeping an eye on the competition and Malcius’s group at the same time. As the young woman approached, Rezkin recognized her as Nanessy Threll, the elemental mage who had examined the black blade while Rezkin was posing as Dark Tidings. Just as before, she wore mage robes with red and blue panels indicating her affinity for both fire and water.

“Mage Threll,” the healer said, “would you assist me in an examination of this water? The young lord, here, has been poisoned, and we are looking for the source.”

Nanessy’s eyes widened in surprise. “Of course, Healer Jespia. Which one did you say was poisoned?” the younger woman asked eyeing the men before her.

Jespia turned to indicate the young man who had suffered so terribly a few moments ago, but he was already halfway to the center of the field to meet his opponent. “That one,” she said, her voice filled with disapproval as she pointed at the man in question.

“Oh, ah, with all due respect, Healer Jespia, if he has just been poisoned should he not be receiving treatment or resting?” Nanessy questioned with concern.

“Yes, most certainly, but I am not his attending healer. This young man, here, claims to be a Master Healer of the Mundane,” the woman replied, pointing a thick finger at Rezkin. “He has already treated the patient and given him leave to compete.”

Everyone stared at the two competitors as they met up in the center of the field. Malcius bowed graciously as propriety dictated, but Hespion sneered and bowed mockingly at the count’s son. The man’s eyes darted several times toward the gathered official, healer, and mage who were standing near the Jebai’s friends. What were they doing on the field, anyway? No one was permitted but the competitors and officials. The longer the group stared, the angrier he became.

Hespion had counted on the Jebai becoming too ill to treat before the round started. If nothing else, the healer should have held him back from the competition for observation. Normally, in a tournament like this, the healer would not have even checked for poison. They were here to treat serious traumatic injuries. The woman should have just assumed the Jebai was ill. Even if the healer had checked for poison, which she obviously did, she could not have known the nature of the poison. There was no way she could have come up with an antidote or treatment in that short amount of time, even if she had known which poison had been used; and it was even more impossible that the cure had worked so quickly.

Malcius could see that Hespion was disturbed by the fact that he was not vomiting or passed out on the side of the field. Without a doubt, the duke’s son had been watching and knew the poisoning had been successful. He could see Hespion’s fury, now, and thought it might work to Malcius’s advantage. If Malcius could keep his mind on the duel and not think about the fact that this man had just attempted to sicken or even kill him, he could use Hespion’s own distractions against the man.

The official raised his fist above his head and brought it down quickly, indicating the start of the match. Before the man’s fist was fully lowered, Hespion lunged at Malcius. Prior to Rezkin’s tutelage, Malcius would likely not have expected such an aggressive opening attack. He might have stumbled back quickly and lost any advantage. After the last several weeks of training under the two Swordmasters, Malcius was not the same swordsman he was when he left Kaibain. Rezkin was always telling him to be efficient, to embrace an economy of moves such that the least amount of movement would not only remove him from harm but maneuver him into the best possible position for a counter attack.

Malcius pivoted to the side, barely missing Hespion’s blade. He quickly brought his own sword down in a move that would have removed the man’s arms if Hespion had not dropped and rolled to the side. Although Hespion used some dirty tricks to win, he was still a good enough combatant to make it into the Second Tier. As Hespion regained his feet, Malcius brought his sword up under the man’s guard in one fluid motion. Hespion managed to shift his weight back and block the strike at the last moment, but it was an obvious struggle.

Hespion’s sword was at an awkward angle, and he had little leverage. His balance was off, and when Malcius released the pressure, he stumbled forward. In a move he had been practicing all week, Malcius abruptly reversed his grip on his sword and slashed across Hespion’s midsection. If this had not been an official duel, Malcius would not have held back, and Hespion would have been gutted. As it was, the man’s clothes were slashed, and a thin line of blood seeped from a shallow cut across his abdomen. The official called the first point.

Malcius knew he should have performed an immediate follow-up attack, but he had been surprised when his strike actually landed. Hespion had quickly backed away, and now the two were circling each other once again. A venomous hatred filled Hespion’s eyes. This was not just a tournament of skill for the duke’s son. If the situation had been reversed, Malcius doubted Hespion would have held back. Malcius hoped the healers on the field were truly talented, for it looked to him that Hespion meant to run him through.

In a torrent of powerful strikes, Hespion came at Malcius in full force. With each dodge or block, the duke’s son became increasingly aggressive. Hespion was slightly taller and much broader than Malcius, and the Jebai was not fully recovered since the poisoning. Every strike felt as though the man was attempting to hammer him into the ground. The Jebai considered waiting to see if the man would tire quickly from expending so much energy, but Malcius was not sure he could hold out against such an onslaught for that long. He was not nearly as fast as Palis or Waylen, and he was not able to dodge as many of the strikes as he would have liked.

While powerful, Hespion’s form lacked the fluid grace that Rezkin had been teaching. Malcius tried to think of what Rezkin would tell him to do, but it was difficult when he had a sword-wielding maniac trying to take his head. In truth, Malcius was certain that if this had been a real battle, he would have beaten Hespion within minutes. He had seen numerous openings to trip, shove, or otherwise pummel the larger man, but none of those tactics were permitted in the dueling arena. Then again, Hespion was not above using devious tactics, himself. Malcius was beginning to understand why Rezkin disdained dueling as a sport.

The young swordsman finally noticed a pattern of weakness in Hespion’s form. The man would slash downward to the left, reverse, strike down toward the right, step in, slash horizontal, and lunge. He repeated this series multiple times, sometimes maneuvering in the opposite direction, but every time he was too slow to fill the large gap between the horizontal slash and lunge. Malcius decided to make use of this gap, and the next time Hespion performed the maneuver, the Jebai threw himself into the opening in a forward roll. As he came out of the roll behind Hespion, he swung his sword out and back. He felt the drag of the blade as it sunk into Hespion’s hamstring. Not wanting to make the same mistake twice, Malcius immediately pivoted and lashed out with his sword again. Hespion had collapsed to one knee, and Malcius’s blade bit through the meaty muscles and shoulder blades of his upper back. Malcius was thankful he remembered to lower the trajectory of his blade or he might have accidentally removed the future duke’s head.

The official called the match with Malcius the clear winner, having not received a single point. The young Jebai could see from Hespion’s murderous gaze that he had made an enemy this day. He was glad his county was under Duke Wellinven’s jurisdiction and not that of Atressian. Tieran may have been petty, arrogant, and churlish in the past, but Hespion looked nothing less than murderous at this moment. A couple of healers rushed forward to assist, but the man shoved them back and berated them with harsh words. Eventually, the eldest healer cast a spell to force the man to sleep so they could tend his wounds and remove him from the field.

Malcius headed back to his two friends who were still standing on the side of the field with the official, the healer and the mage. Tieran met him with a wide grin and slapped him on the back in congratulations. Rezkin simply nodded with a slight smile, and Malcius considered it a compliment, since the man did not immediately ask him to begin listing everything he had done wrong. Rezkin was a beast when it came to training. He took advantage of every opportunity to force his students learn from their mistakes. Malcius knew he would be giving a full accounting later, and Rezkin would not have missed a single move.

“Can you believe it? I made it into the finals!” Malcius exclaimed with exuberance.

“Of course you did,” Tieran replied with a grin. “You have improved greatly since we started this adventure.”

Healer Jespia narrowed her eyes at Malcius and said, “You seem to have done quite well for a man who was knocking at death’s door only moments ago.”

Malcius’s face paled. “Death’s door? Surely it was not so bad as that?” he asked with fearful eyes that bounced back and forth between the healer and Rezkin.

“Please, Healer Jespia, let us not make it more than it was. He would not have died from triania poisoning,” Rezkin replied impassively.

“Maybe not, but he may have wished he would had he not received treatment right away. I do not take it lightly that one of our competitors was poisoned during the competition,” the healer remarked.

“Nor do I,” intoned the official, who had yet to provide his name. “Have you any idea who might be the culprit?” the man inquired.

“Do you really have to ask?” Rezkin questioned with a raised brow and nod toward the field where the duel had taken place. “Some individuals are more difficult to accuse than others with a lack of proof.”

The man furrowed his brow as he looked in the direction the healers had taken the heir to the Atressian duchy. His scowl deepened and he said, “Yes, I see what you mean. What did you find, Mage Threll?”

Nanessy startled when her name was called. She had been surreptitiously eyeing the handsome Lord Rezkin who was standing across from her. The young mage had only ever felt drawn to one other man, and she had not thought to experience such a feeling again, especially so soon; but she was most definitely interested in this fine warrior …healer …whatever he was. It was an attraction almost as strong as the one she felt when she met the mysterious Dark Tidings. That particular attraction had caused her concern, since the wraith also terrified her. Nanessy blushed as her mind tried to catch up to the conversation.

“Oh, uh, yes, this water definitely contains some sort of organic contaminant. I cannot say what it is, though. I can separate it for you if you wish,” she said.

“I do not think that will be necessary. I believe we know what it is. What I want to know is how you managed to treat him so quickly,” the healer stated, redirecting her attention to the imposing man before her. “I cannot imagine that you simply carry around that specific antidote at all times and happened to have it on you when this young man was poisoned.”

“Actually, that is exactly what happened, Healer Jespia,” Rezkin replied.

The woman started to argue when Tieran stepped forward. “It was I who had the antidote.”

“You? Why did you have it?” the woman pressed as she shoved her pudgy hands back onto her generous hips.

Tieran cocked his head, unconsciously copying Rezkin’s frequent, curious motion. “Healer, you would do well to remember to whom you speak. I am unaccustomed to being spoken to in such an accusatory manner.”

The healer’s countenance softened to one of chagrin but her lips remained pursed and her chin lifted. A month ago, Tieran would have berated the woman for her impertinence. Now, though, he understood and accepted that the woman was just trying to do her job, and she was concerned for a tournament participant who happened to be Tieran’s friend.

“Although I am not required to do so, I will answer your question. I have been staying at the Ytrevius estate along with another participant. In fact, it is a remarkable coincidence that the other houseguest is Lord Hespion, who was just dueling with Lord Malcius. Anyway, someone at the estate attempted to use the same poison on me a few days ago. Rezkin prepared the antidote for me in case another attempt succeeded, and I have been carrying it on me ever since.”

“You are participating in the competition as well?” the official asked, eyeing the white ribbon wrapped around the young lord’s bicep.

“I am, but I am competing in the rapier division,” Tieran answered as he tapped the hilt of the rapier at his side.

“The rapier division? But, why would he…” the official started but was cut off when Tieran raised a hand.

Tieran lifted his brows and said, “Not all motives are the same, and these are most definitely the kind you would not wish to speak aloud.”

The official snapped his mouth shut. He now understood that there were perhaps some more serious political undercurrents to the incident, which was something in which he did not wish to be involved.

“Sir, I did not get your name,” Rezkin said to the official.

“Oh, right. I apologize. I am LeukSergeant Yail Stratus, currently serving as a tournament official, former Third Tier champion,” the man said in introduction. The official had not introduced himself as a lord, which meant he was one of the few commoners who had managed to prevail in the tiers. One of the incentives, particularly for a commoner, to serve in the king’s army was that after one served his five-year and was released in good standing, he could continue the use of his former rank with the added prefix of “Leuk” to indicate his veteran status. It provided some amount of prestige and even notoriety if the man was of sufficient rank.

“Thank you, LeukSergeant, and thank you, Healer Jespia and Mage Threll,” Rezkin said with a nod to each. “We must be gone, though. Lord Malcius’s brother and another friend of ours are both competing in the Third Tier competition, which is being held at this very moment. We hoped to arrive before their matches conclude.”

“Yes, of course, but…ah…we will have to file a report of this incident. We may need to filter out some of the details…in particular, the treatment. That is, unless you desire a more thorough investigation, which may lead to more uncomfortable questions and accusations,” Stratus remarked.

“Whatever you think best,” Rezkin said with a generous smile.

Stratus glanced first at the young lord who had been poisoned for his agreement. The young man looked to the strange man called Rezkin before agreeing. The official then glanced to the healer and mage for their cooperation. Jespia scowled and pursed her lips unhappily, but she eventually nodded assent. The mage also nodded at Stratus’s inquiry, but her attention was elsewhere.

“Tieran, would you please retrieve the others so we may depart quickly?” Rezkin requested, but the request did not leave room for a rejection. Lord Tieran Nirius, the next Duke of Wellinven and perhaps the next King of Ashai, trotted off to do the so-called Master Healer’s bidding. Stratus was a military man, and he could recognize a warrior when he saw one. Whether this man was a healer or not, he was most definitely a killer. Unlike most people, Stratus was not fooled into thinking the man incompetent because he carried two swords. On the contrary, he was nearly certain the man knew how to use them and use them well.

Stratus might have accepted that this man was the duke’s Captain of the Guard, accompanying his charge at the tournament, except that he was far too young to be a captain, and captains did not give orders to dukes. In addition, Stratus had met the duke’s Captain of the Guard, Urius Sedt, at one of the tournament functions. Had the political climate become so dire that the duke needed a secret personal guard for his son, one so thoroughly trained in medicine that he could combat random poisonings? This was something Stratus certainly wanted nothing to do with, but he was afraid this incident might have drawn him in regardless.

Chapter 23

Everyone but Wesson headed over to the other arena in hopes of catching Jimson and Palis’s matches. The mage stayed behind in support of Waylen who had not yet competed that morning. By the time the companions arrived and found seating, Jimson was in his final match. While he won the bout, Jimson knew he had acquired enough points to put him out of the running for the next round. Still, he performed better than he expected, largely thanks to Rezkin and Kai’s tutelage.

Palis’s performance impressed his friends. He was younger than Malcius at twenty-two, but his dedication to the sport showed. Not only did he defeat his opponents with few points accrued, he did so with grace and poise. He incorporated a few unusual techniques that even the other competitors appreciated. Palis truly saw dueling as an art form and sought to emulate the beautiful, fluid dance he admired so much when he witnessed Rezkin’s first demonstration. In the end, Palis had impressed the crowd and secured a place in the next round of the competition.

Following Palis’s success, everyone was more than excited, but not just because the Jebai brothers had done so well in the competition. That afternoon, the tournament was to see the opening bouts of the Melee competition. While everyone in attendance was eager to witness the new and exciting spectacle, whispers of Dark Tidings were on nearly every set of lips. Everyone knew the dark wraith would be competing in the Melee, and everyone was eager to see if he could live up to his namesake.

Only half of the Melee competitors would have the opportunity to compete on the first day, and the other half were to compete the following morning. The matchups were chosen randomly, and Dark Tidings had been assigned to the first lot. No other competitions were being held during the Melee, and Rezkin had not been able to come up with a decent excuse to get out of watching the event with his friends. At the very least, he knew Frisha would make a big deal when he told her he would not be staying to watch the round. In this, he had to leave it to the others to make his excuses for him.

It was less than two hours until the Melee began, and the stands were already filling with curious spectators. The group moved together to claim better seating that could fit them all once everyone arrived. Because no one wanted to be stuck out of the arena when the tournament began, the traveling companions had brought their own food to snack on while they waited. For more than one reason, Tieran opted to enjoy the show with his friends rather than in the company of the higher nobles and dignitaries in the reserved section. None of his lackeys from Kaibain had the skill or ambition to attend the tournament, and he had no desire to sit beside Hespion or Duke Ytrevius. Rezkin saw this as a marked improvement in the young man’s character. Before their voyage, the duke’s son would have scoffed at the idea of sitting amongst the masses. Still, several of Tieran’s guards were not far from him at any time.

Once everyone was seated and satisfied that they would have a good view of the competitors, Frisha turned and looped an arm around Rezkin’s and asked, “Isn’t it exciting, Rez? I can’t wait to see this Dark Tidings that everyone has been talking about. It will be even better because you will be here to tell us all about the different weapons and cultures of the competitors we’ll be seeing.”

“I am sure it is quite exciting, but I am afraid I will not be joining you to watch the competition. I have duties to which I must attend,” Rezkin replied, attempting to seed his voice with disappointment.

“What? What duties could you possibly have to attend to now? The whole city is focused on the tournament, and everyone wants to see this event,” the young woman protested.

Rezkin opened his mouth to reply but was interrupted by Palis. “Frisha, you know Rezkin has responsibilities to his liege, and that particular man is competing in this competition. Obviously, he must tend to his duties.” Just as Rezkin had hoped, Palis provided him with an excuse that might have seemed suspicious if the young warrior had said so himself.

“What are you talking about? What liege? You mean – …” The young woman’s eyes widened as understanding dawned. “You mean he’s here? He’s competing in the Melee? Why didn’t anyone tell me?” She asked as she scowled at Palis and Tam, who was sitting beside her.

Palis shrugged and said, “Malcius told us this morning. I figured you knew.” This last he said with a nod toward Rezkin.

Frisha huffed. “Gah, you know he doesn’t tell me anything. Who is he?”

“Seriously, Frisha?” Tam exclaimed. “Do you really need to ask?”

“I apologize for not telling you, Frisha. Some information finds its way out whether I wish it or not,” the young warrior said with an accusatory glance at Malcius.

Malcius frowned and said, “They had to know, Rezkin. They would have gotten themselves in trouble looking for him otherwise.”

“Yes, yes, I know, Malcius. I knew you would tell them as soon as you had the opportunity. I simply did not consider spreading the word myself,” Rezkin conceded.

“Should you not be going then?” Tieran pressed.

Rezkin shook his head and said, “I will stay and partake of the midday repast with you and then be gone.”

“But, does he not need to prepare ahead of time? There is little more than an hour before the round begins,” the young lord protested.

The warrior shrugged and said, “He is always prepared to fight. What little preparation is required will not take long. He wishes to be seen as little as possible before the round begins.”

Malcius shook his head and said, “I cannot see how anyone can compete without first preparing. I had to get here a couple of hours early to warm up and calm my nerves.”

“That is because you are a duelist, a competitor of sport, Malcius. A true warrior is prepared to fight at all times. It matters not whether it occurs in an arena or a battlefield. At least in this venue there is far less chance of dying. If anything, this is like a warm up,” Rezkin remarked.

Malcius’s eyes widened, and his jaw dropped. “This is the King’s Tournament, Rezkin. These are the best fighters in all the land. It is nothing like a warm up.”

Rezkin shrugged. The group chatted about the duels they had seen and about other competitors for a while. Eventually, Baron Fendendril, Waylen, and Wesson joined their clique. Waylen had performed well, but he had not scored low enough to move on to the next round. With little time to spare, Rezkin excused himself and left the arena. Getting out was made difficult by the incoming flow of the crowd. Even without his dark disguise, though, his confident bearing and purposeful stride encouraged patrons to part before him.

Once he reached the buildings across the open square, a shadowy figure slipped from a dark recess. The hunched and tattered figure swayed to one side before regaining his footing and making his way toward the young warrior. As the broken vagabond passed, Rezkin snatched the large, heavy satchel clutched in his vassal’s strong grip. Rezkin ducked into an empty hovel that backed up to an abandoned bottler’s shop. The room was dark and a few broken bottles were scattered across the floor, but it was otherwise empty.

The warrior donned his shadowy disguise and stuffed his other clothes into the sack. The beggar man that was Kai met him at the door and nodded his approval. Kai reclaimed the sack and handed Rezkin his weapons. The black blade was strapped across his back while the two su’carai hung at either hip. The su’carai had no sheathes of their own, but leather flaps strapped to his belt fell over the top curves of the blades so he would not slice himself every time he lowered his hands.

The striker looked him over once more to make sure everything was in place. The inky black of his visage was only relieved by the silvery glint of buckles and weapons, the colorful assortment of braids, the red ribbon about his arm and the green one upon his scabbard that matched the green lightning bolt panels of his tabard. By now, everyone had probably heard of his unusual sword and knew it had been checked. Likewise, everyone knew about him, but he was required to wear the ribbons regardless.

Just before they parted, Kai reached over and plucked a weapon from behind the door. It was called a naginata and was made of a wooden pole like a spear, but at the end was a long, single-edged blade that curved slightly at the tip. The pole and blade were both black as coal. Rezkin looked at the striker curiously, but the man just shrugged and said, “You never know.”

The two warriors went their separate ways. Kai was avoiding the notice of the strikers while he provided surveillance and could serve as a distraction if necessary. Rezkin swept through a few alleys and bounded over fences and walls to come out on a street at the other side of the square. His approach of the arena did not go unnoticed. The strikers on watch were once again flummoxed as to how he had approached so close to the arena without being seen. Thus far, they only knew that the mysterious competitor seemed to appear from nowhere upon arrival and vanish into the shadows upon leaving. They did not know he was actively avoiding their pursuit, for they did not know he was even aware of their presence or interest.

A wave of excitement ran through the crowd, but they parted and ran from Dark Tiding’s path as though he might snatch their souls if they came too close. As he exited the portico onto the field, the volume of the crowd surged. It was not a cheer, for they did not yet know him. It was the simple exchange of exuberant outbursts, contagious rumors and groundless speculation. Rezkin stalked to one side of the arena and then stood at attention. It was not the uncomfortable, unnatural attention of a soldier in lineup. It was the attention of a warrior poised to strike at any moment. One hand gripped the naginata while the other rested lightly at his side where he could draw his su’carai without hesitation. Once in position, he became as a statue and did not move. If not for his cloak billowing in the slight breeze, one might have mistaken him for some gothic sentinel carved from obsidian.

Frisha squealed when she saw the infamous Dark Tidings stride into the arena. By now, she had been informed that this man was the True King and that Rezkin served him, but she could not help the thrill of excitement that ran through her. It was the kind of excitement that surged when one was confronted with sudden danger but felt secure in one’s survival.

“Look Tam! It’s your hero! He’s come to life. Aren’t you excited?” Frisha prodded as she shook his arm.

“I am not certain that the Shadow Knight could be considered a hero, Frisha. He is an assassin, after all,” Tam argued.

“I know, but he was always your favorite character. I suppose he’s more of an antihero or something,” Frisha mused.

A shiver ran through Tam as he looked upon the dark visage. Even though he knew it was Rezkin and had even helped create the guise, the image was so alien and demented that he could not help but feel an anxious thrill. “He certainly is most imposing,” the young man remarked.

“More like terrifying,” Frisha replied.

Palis, Brandt and Waylen were whispering and motioning animatedly toward the dark warrior. Malcius cast several warning looks in their direction, and eventually they settled down.

“I, for one, cannot wait to see his skill,” the eldest Jebai remarked. “Rez says the man is his equal, but I find it difficult to believe there could be two men with such talent. Sometimes I feel like we are all just children playing with toys in Rezkin’s presence.”

“True,” said Tieran, “but he is still just a man. No man is unbeatable.” Tieran swallowed hard as he thought back to his almost poisoning and understood how easy it was to die.

“A man, really? More like a demon,” said Malcius with a hint of derision.

A demon? Tieran remembered a time not long ago when he had referred to Rezkin with the same term. He could not argue the point.

Malcius continued, “With everything that is happening,” he said vaguely, “I know how things must be, but I cannot help but desire some proof that he is worthy. Perhaps it is because in him, I find hope. It would be devastating if he were to disappoint. The man simply must live up to his reputation.”

“What reputation is that?” Palis interjected. “No one knows of him! All this secrecy has prevented the spread of the truth.”

Malcius abruptly reached out and grabbed Palis by the nape, dragging him close as he leaned in and gritted out in a low hiss, “A truth that will get you killed! Mind your words, Palis.”

Palis rubbed his neck and scowled but had the decency to look chastened. He nodded and then went back to watching the competitors gather around the perimeter of the field. All of the competitors participating in that afternoon’s event were expected to show up at the beginning of the round and stand to the side before and after their matches until the entire round was completed. The other participants all seemed to shy away from Dark Tidings, although one man made a point of greeting him. Palis could not remember the man’s name, but Brandt reminded him that this was Aspion of Ludren, the commoner blacksmith from Channería who Dark Tidings had sponsored for the Fifth Tier competition. The thirty-something-year-old carried a massive war hammer at his side.

Palis’s brows rose at the sight of the weapon, and he began to realize the eminent danger. Glancing around, he pointed out to the others that three times as many healers were on the field than there were during the dueling competition. Some competitors sported smaller weapons like knives, katari, and a couple of strange claw-like apparatuses with multiple blades. The companions made a note to ask Rezkin about those later, because surely he would know. Others hefted massive armaments such as battleaxes, spears, scythes, and one beast even carried a halberd. Several of the competitors hefted shields, as well, which were permitted for this competition. Participants could use any number and variety of weapons they could carry as long as the weapons were not thrown. Ranged weapons were not permitted.

“By the Maker!” Malcius exclaimed. “They will hack each other to pieces! One hit from that halberd or war hammer, and I am not certain the healers could fix you.”

Wesson leaned over Reaylin’s shoulder and said, “Pay close attention. You will see how necessary healers are if warriors are to survive.”

Reaylin motioned as if to swat a fly and smacked Wesson across the face. “Oops, sorry,” she said without a hint of sincerity.

A shrill giggle caught Malcius’s attention, and he looked over to observe his young sister. She was sitting far enough from them that no one would mistake her as being a part of their group but close enough for the guards to keep an eye on her. She had managed to find a clutch of likeminded young men and women who spent most of their time comparing wardrobes and making snide remarks about everyone else around them. The young men boisterously assured the young women that they could easily best any of the Melee competitors, but since the event was so uncouth, they would not deign to participate.

One of the young men in Shiela’s group snorted and barked loudly, “Do you think he is carrying enough weapons?”

Another said, “He probably believes his opponents will have to get injured if only by falling against him. He probably wears the mask hoping to scare them into falling on his blades.”

Malcius decided that his siblings were out to make him into an old man before his time. Shiela was sure to bring their House disgrace, and Palis was a misspoken word away from being strung up on the gallows. The eldest Jebai thought he might never wish to go on another adventure with his siblings again. In truth, though, he enjoyed having Palis around. Although they were of very different personalities, Malcius had always had a fondness for his younger brother. He liked spending time with him and even admired his little brother’s commitment and enthusiasm for the sword. Malcius had yet to find anything worthy of his dedication.

The din of the crowd was interrupted by the peal of the announcer whose voice was amplified by mage power. The man droned on about the inauguration of the first Melee competition, but the crowd barely listened, as everyone was eager to see the action. Finally, he introduced the first competitors who had been selected at random. A Channerían businessman stepped forward. He had the poise and conceit typical of a duelist, but he carried a long leather whip. Sharp iron filings and spikes were embedded in the last two feet of the whip. At his waist was a wicked unsheathed serrated dagger. Many in the crowd booed at the sight of the man. Few probably knew who he was, but everyone knew only slavers carried whips.

The Channerían’s opponent was a massive giant who turned out to be a chieftain from one of the mountain tribes northeast of Channería. The hulking man carried the biggest ax Malcius had ever seen and a wood and iron shield the young Jebai probably could not have lifted to save his life. “He does not look much like a duelist,” Malcius remarked to no one in particular.

“He is not,” Brandt replied. “I heard he arrived only a few days ago to secure some trade agreement. He heard about the Melee competition and decided to join.”

“Just like that? He just up and joined an interkingdom tournament without a thought?” Malcius exclaimed in amazement.

Brandt shrugged and said, “I guess it is like Rezkin said – a warrior is always ready for battle.”

The match was a short one. The mountain brute received several gashes across his flesh that bled profusely, but the fight came to an abrupt halt when he cleaved the whip-wielding arm from his opponent’s body. The crowd cheered, some cringed, and others bathed the stands in their lunch.

“Oh, by the Maker, that was disgusting,” Frisha exclaimed, looking a little green.

“Are you okay, Reaylin?” Jimson asked when he noticed the woman had gone pale and was swaying in her seat.

“Well,” Malcius said as he swallowed the bile that had risen in his own throat, “I do not believe he will be using that whip anytime soon, even if the healers can reattach the arm.”

“Is that possible?” Reaylin asked as she turned wide eyes on Wesson. “Can they actually reattach an arm?”

Wesson nodded and said, “Yes, enough skilled healers are here that I am sure they have the power to do so. They are tending to him now, which means they have stopped the bleeding, and the wound is very fresh and relatively clean. He will probably have full use of the arm in a few days.”

“They should not be wasting their energy on his kind,” Brandt spat. Tam thought he might agree, but he did not feel comfortable voicing his opinion, particularly amongst the nobles.

“You know nothing about the man,” Tieran argued.

“I know enough,” the Gerrand said.

After a few more equally gory matches, the speaker finally called forth Dark Tidings. The shadowy figure was still standing at the side of the arena and had not moved a muscle since he arrived. Malcius wondered if it was even possible for the man to perform well after having been still for so long, but Dark Tidings strode forward with the confidence of a predator stalking its prey within its own territory. The collective voice of the crowd fell away to barely a whisper. It was as though the entire audience was leaning forward and was loath to exhale.

Dark Tidings’ opponent turned out to be an Ashaiian count, Shivés Ruolt, whose county was under the authority of Duke Darning. Shivés was a slight man, more than half a foot shorter than Dark Tidings. He was slim with taut muscles, and he moved with sleek grace. The Jebais had spent a small amount of time with the Ruolts, but the age gap was too great to have developed more than a passing acquaintance. The man was at least ten years older than Malcius.

Shivés drew two long, gleaming daggers as he approached Dark Tidings with confidence and caution. Dark Tidings stood steadily until the count was ready. The dark wraith then bowed respectfully and drew his own weapons. He did not draw the massive black sword at his back, and he did not draw the strange, wicked silver blades at his sides, nor did he heft the naginata, which he tossed to the side. He drew two previously hidden daggers that were nearly equal in length to those wielded by the count. The count eyed the daggers curiously and then bowed in respect.

“Good form,” the baron remarked breaking his silence. For the most part, the baron stayed quiet around the younger group, allowing Waylen to make his own friends.

“What? What happened?” Frisha inquired.

It was Jimson who answered. “Dark Tidings could have had a huge advantage over the count, assuming he is very skilled with his weapons. His sword, naginata, and those…other things…all have a greater reach and longer blades. Instead, he chose to meet the count on equal ground, so to speak. While it shows respect for the count, it is also his way of saying that he does not need the advantage. He is confident that he can beat the count against his own weapons.”

“So, they will both be fighting with daggers?” Frisha asked.

“To start, at least. Either can switch weapons at any time,” Jimson stated. “The count could even chose to wield the naginata, if he could get his hands on it. Unlike the duels, these matches do not end if one combatant is disarmed. The match continues until one of them concedes or is incapacitated.” Jimson intentionally left off the possibility of one being killed. It was pretty obvious to everyone that it was a very real possibility in this competition.

The count moved first. He ran forward faster than anyone expected, a raptor darting in to seize his prey. When he was close enough to strike, he bent low at the knees and waist, slashing at Dark Tidings’ midsection. Dark Tidings held his ground and blocked with his own blade as he made a swipe at Shivés’ side. Shivés blocked the attempt with his other blade as he attempted another strike. Shivés danced around Dark Tidings making strikes and slashes, increasing his speed with each attempt. Dark Tidings had yet to move an inch from his starting position, pivoting in place as he held his ground like the greatest of fortresses. Eventually, Shivés stepped back and made a flicking motion at his unruffled opponent. Dark Tidings tilted his head in acknowledgement and then moved.

The speed with which he moved was shocking. His cloak billowed out behind him like black wings, and when he twisted, it curled about him like smoke. The two knife wielders began moving in what appeared to be a well-choreographed dance. Silvery glints and high-pitched rings sparked in and out in concert. Occasionally, one of the combatants would throw himself into a roll or spin that each time abruptly ended with a crash of metal. At times, onlookers could not keep track of the weapons, much less could they understand how the combatants did so.

Dark Tidings met every stab and slash, and the dance went on. As Shivés began to tire, Dark Tidings showed not a modicum of fatigue. It became apparent that Dark Tidings was merely allowing the performance to continue, allowing for the spectacle. After one particularly intense exchange, Shivés finally stepped back and just stared at Dark Tidings in wonder as he breathed heavily. Dark Tidings made the same flicking motion as had Shivés, inviting the competitor to continue. Shivés released a heavy breath and then smiled. It was the smile of a man at peace. The count sheathed his knives and then bowed deeply toward his ominous foe. He turned to the nearest official and said, “I concede to a superior opponent.”

It was the longest and probably most intense battle in the arena thus far, ending with a clear winner, and not one drop of blood had been spilled. The crowd sat stunned for a moment, unsure if they should be disappointed about the forfeiture. The applause began on the arena floor amongst the competitors and quickly grew to a roar. Dark Tidings bowed to his opponent, bowed to the other competitors, and then bowed to the crowd before taking up his unwavering stance once again.

“Why did he just stop?” Reaylin huffed. “He wasn’t even injured.”

“Dark Tidings was holding off Shivés’ every assault,” Jimson replied. “Dark Tidings did make offensive moves, but none were truly made with effort. He was largely playing defense – a man under siege – and he never waivered.”

“So he was toying with him?” the young woman questioned heatedly.

“No,” Jimson answered, shaking his head, “he was matching him skill for skill and then a bit more. He pushed the count until the count knew he was beat. Dark Tidings likely could have sliced the man up and made him look the fool. Instead, he helped Shivés put on probably the best showing of his life. I daresay Shivés is probably a Daggermaster who does not often meet worthy opponents. Shivés will compete again, but you will not see such a show since he will be competing against other odd weapons. In the end, Shivés simply knew he was outmatched. If he had not conceded, Dark Tidings would have taken him down.”

“Then Dark Tidings is a Daggermaster,” Frisha concluded, and the others simply nodded agreement.

Dark Tidings, like the other competitors, competed in a total of three matches that afternoon. The second opponent looked to be close to thirty and wielded a battleax, which the wraith matched with his black blade. Each time the weapons collided, the black blade lit with green lightning, much to the appreciation of the crowd. After allowing the match to continue for several minutes, Dark Tidings finally decided the ax-wielder would not yield. The shadowy warrior moved in quick as a viper and struck the man in the temple with his pommel, rendering him unconscious. Again, neither warrior had received a single cut.

The third opponent was a young man, perhaps around twenty, who wielded a stave. He wore plain homespun clothes and very worn boots. He was obviously a commoner of lesser means, and he was simply introduced as Parker Farmer of Skutton. Dark Tidings bowed to the young farmer just as he had the other competitors. The young man smiled uncertainly and then bowed in return. Dark Tidings matched the young man’s stave with his naginata, but never once did he turn the blade on the young farmer. After a few minutes, it became clear that the reserved Parker Farmer was very good with his stave. The shadowed wraith pushed the young farmer to his limit, inciting cheers and applause from the crowd. The other competitors nodded and smiled in appreciation of the young man’s skill. Finally, Dark Tidings swept Parker’s feet from beneath him and then stood over the farmer with the butt end of his naginata at the young man’s throat. Parker nodded and held up a fist indicating he conceded the match.

“How weak!” one of the young men in Shiela’s group exclaimed. “He failed to even draw blood on a single opponent.”

“I doubt he has the stomach for it,” another said. “He hides behind the mask so we cannot see him trying not to wretch.”

A number of patrons were scowling and grumbling about the young men’s remarks, but no one wanted to confront the nobles. Shiela had not introduced her new friends, and Rezkin’s companions did not recognize any of the young men or women.

After several additional matches, Frisha exclaimed, “Oh, look, it’s that young farmer with the stave again. He’s one of my favorites.”

“Why?” blurted Malcius before he could stop himself.

Frisha scowled at her cousin. She lifted her chin and said, “Just because he is a commoner does not mean he is without skill or value. Even you can see he is extremely talented, especially for being so young. And, look how much he does with so little.”

Malcius ducked his head and acceded, “You are right, Cousin. I envy his skill with his chosen weapon.” The stern purse of the young woman’s lips softened to a genuine smile, which Malcius returned.

The young stave-wielder was pitted against a brute of a man from the Isle of Sand, an island that was rumored to be a haven for bandits, pirates, slave traders, and other unsavory sorts referred to as Sandmen. The Kingdom of Verril claimed the island, but no one truly believed the kingdom had any power over its residents. The man wore a leather, sleeveless jerkin and even from a distance, the observers could see a multitude of scars and tattoos gracing his skin. He wielded a wicked dagger in one hand and a mace in the other. He grinned maliciously at the young stave-wielder before pounding his feet in the dirt and charging like a bull.

The competitors clashed, and the crowd was once again impressed with the young farmer’s skill and stamina. Almost the entire audience was cheering for the young man, and questions abounded about how a young commoner could become so skilled. In one fateful moment, though, the Sandman managed to get under the young farmer’s guard and thrust his terrible, jagged dagger into the young man’s gut. The official called the match as the young man collapsed, but that did not stop the mace that crushed the stave-wielder’s skull. The crowd gasped in unison, and multiple healers rushed to the scene. After only a moment, the lead healer shook his head and everyone knew that Parker Farmer was dead.

The companions and almost everyone else in the stands leapt to their feet shouting in anger. The bloodied warrior grinned and spat to the side as he strolled to the wall, leaned back, and glared everywhere at once, just daring anyone to confront him.

“Why?” Frisha wailed through threatening tears.

The baron shook his head sadly and rested a hand on the young woman’s shoulder. “Such a waste and needless at that,” he said forlornly.

The nobles and commoners alike protested and fussed about the injustice, but none were angrier than Rezkin. As Dark Tidings, he stood resolute and made not a motion when the young man fell, but inside he was roiling with discontent. The mace-wielder had destroyed that talented young man needlessly, and worse, he enjoyed it. People had often accused Rezkin of being cruel, but he knew the truth of the word. Rezkin could see the cold cruelty in the wretched man’s eyes and in his rotten grin. This Sandman had just earned himself a place in Rezkin’s plan.

The crowd was more subdued as the final matches concluded. It was difficult to shake off the death of the young farmer who had quickly become a crowd favorite. When the last match was called and the competitors released, Rezkin exited through the nearest portico. The crowd parted around him as onlookers gawked and pointed and whispered. This time, avoiding the strikers was made easier because Kai was ready to assist each step of the way.

At the first juncture, the striker collected Rezkin’s weapons, which had made him easy to identify, and provided the young warrior with the pack containing his change of clothes. The two trained warriors had scouted the buildings and planned the route so that Rezkin could easily change his appearance and don his regular clothes without being seen. Once he was finished with his transformation, Kai collected the pack and Rezkin made his way back to the arena. He quietly slid in among his friends who were more than eager to discuss the event. Frisha was quite upset about the death of the young farmer and could not help the tears that moistened her cheeks.

“He was just such a talented boy,” Frisha said as she wiped her tears.

“He was a man and a worthy opponent,” Rezkin replied.

“You saw?” she asked. Rezkin nodded and wrapped one arm around her shoulders as they walked. Frisha balled her fists as her cheeks flushed, and she bit out, “How could he do it?”

“He is a cruel man, Frisha. He does not value life,” Rezkin replied.

“Not him. I mean Dark Tidings. How could he just stand there and watch like nothing happened? Why didn’t he do something?” the young woman growled.

“What did you expect him to do?” Malcius protested. “It happened during the tournament in such a manner that the officials could not take action against the Sandman. If they send one man to the gallows for killing an opponent, others may not wish to take the risk of competing.

“Gutterspit!” Brandt exclaimed. “If they do not take action against contestants who overstep and needlessly kill their opponents, then no one will want to risk competing in the first place.”

“True, but it is hardly Dark Tiding’s place to make such a determination. He is a contestant, not an official. He has no authority in the arena,” Malcius argued.

“Maybe not as a contestant, but we both know he is more than that,” Brandt argued.

Malcius ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “Yes, we know that, but no one else does. They would not listen to him, and the repercussions for pressing the issue would be catastrophic to his cause.”

Rezkin cut into the conversation saying, “Do not fret, Frisha. This offense will not go unpunished.”

The Melee competition fighters who had not competed in the afternoon’s opening round were scheduled to compete the following morning. Since Rezkin had already competed, he was not required to attend. Malcius would be competing in the final rounds of the Second Tier competition in the afternoon, however, so all of the companions were sure to attend, including Rezkin. That meant the warrior had little time in which to complete his tasks, and he needed the mage’s help.

After cornering Wesson in their room that night, Rezkin said, “I am going to ask for your assistance, but I want you to know this is not an order or requirement of your service. You have my leave to reject my request. I only ask that you do not reveal my plans to any others. Do you understand?”

“I understand,” Wesson said slowly with raised brows.

Rezkin glanced at Tieran who was lounging on his bed and said, “I need you to go with me to the duke’s estate.”

“That seems simple enough. What will I be doing there?” Wesson inquired. Tieran’s interest was piqued, and now he listened intently.

“I need you to assist me in getting past some wards without setting off the alarms,” Rezkin stated succinctly.

“You want me to help you illegally intrude into the duke’s estate and break through his wards?” Wesson asked in surprise.

The warrior nodded and said, “Yes, Duke Ytrevius appears to be quite adept at warding, and there were two, in particular, that I could not bypass without alerting him or whoever set them.”

“What do you mean by bypass?” Wesson asked.

Rezkin sighed. “I could not push through them unless I wanted to alert him.”

“Push through? You mean the way you easily walk right through my wards? You can do the same for his?” the journeyman asked flabbergasted.

“Of course. It is not difficult to get through the wards. Two of them, though, presumably leading to the same area, may set off alarms if I attempt to do so,” the warrior stated.

“That does not even make sense, Rezkin. You cannot just push through wards. They are like solid walls to a mundane. If they are designed to keep you out, then you will be kept out,” the mage explained.

“Regardless, I have passed through all of his wards except these two, and I only stopped because I could sense that they would raise the alarms. Why must I repeat myself?” Rezkin asked with a hint of frustration.

Wesson frowned and then decided to just go with it. “You can sense what type of wards they are?”

Rezkin’s shoulders relaxed now that they were getting somewhere again. “I cannot sense what exactly they are supposed to do if someone tries to break them, but I can tell that it is malicious and will set off alarms. They are also very strong. I happen to remember a certain journeyman saying he could pretty much break down any ward.”

Wesson flushed and said, “Yes, but Rezkin, we are talking about breaking into the estate of a duke. If we are caught, we will be lucky to receive a quick death.”

Rezkin shook his head. “If you follow my lead exactly, we will not get caught. The duke depends on his wards too much, and only his private chambers are regularly guarded by men. I have already inspected those and found nothing of note.”

“You spied on the duke’s private chambers?” Tieran exclaimed. “What if he had walked in and found you?”

“I did not have to worry about that since he was already sleeping in them,” Rezkin replied.

“But…” Tieran sputtered but Wesson intervened.

“Why do you need to spy on the duke?” the mage inquired.

The warrior looked the young mage in the eyes and said, “You already know why. Ytrevius and Hespion, and therefore Atressian, are plotting an assassination. We need to know the identity of their target and when and how they intend to carry out their plans. In addition, they already attempted to poison Tieran and succeeded in doing so to Malcius. Since I no longer have my spy network, I must gather this information myself. I could use your assistance, but if you are unwilling, then I will find another way.”

“You have a spy network?” Tieran asked in surprise.

“No longer,” Rezkin admitted feeling his own disappointment. “At least, not as it used to be.” He could now appreciate the immense amount of information brought back to the fortress by the strikers and the effort it took to gather that information. Rezkin had literally killed his network, though, and each day he fell further and further behind in intelligence. There was no telling what was happening in the rest of the kingdom. He could only garner so much information from his new network of thieves and assassins. It was unlikely any of them could infiltrate the duke’s wards, and the truly skilled personnel were nowhere near Skutton. Military reports, official and unofficial council files, and private correspondence between nobles were fruitful, but he could not be everywhere at once, and he had little time as it was.

“I do not know, Rezkin. I understand why you want to, but I have never done anything like that. I have never been in trouble with the law,” the mage hedged.

“If you are concerned about trouble, you had best take your leave now,” Rezkin stated with all seriousness.

Wesson sighed. He had been riding this raft through the rapids just to see where it would go and for the sheer excitement, but he always knew it would eventually catch up with him. One could not work for a man like Rezkin and not get caught in the crossfire. Everything was simply happening so fast. He had thought to have more time before making a decision to support the man. Up until now, Wesson had not really done anything wrong, aside from being present for and participating in some treasonous conversations.

“Very well, Rezkin. I will assist you. I assume you know what you are doing and can get us in and out without getting caught or killed?” the mage asked.

“Of course, but part of that depends on you following directions and whether or not you can perform as requested regarding the wards,” the warrior replied.

“I am coming, too,” Tieran interjected.

“No, you are not. It will be difficult enough getting in and out with the mage, and you will serve no purpose,” Rezkin replied.

Tieran frowned. “Whatever you find in there may need to be reported to the Council. They do not know you. They will not believe anything you have to say.”

“And you think they will believe you?” Rezkin scoffed.

Tieran straightened and said, “I am the future Duke of Wellinven.” The young man’s shoulders slumped slightly as he said, “Even if I could not convince the Council, I could convince my father. Besides, I am capable of taking a Mage Oath.”

“Eventually, probably sooner rather than later, your father will learn of where your loyalties lie, and if he does not agree, then your words will mean nothing,” Rezkin said.

“Maybe. He could disown me, and I would lose my claim to the duchy; but, he cannot interfere with my claim to the throne,” the young man remarked.

“No, you have given that away on your own,” Rezkin stated as he studied the young man’s reaction.

“That is one thing I do not regret, Rezkin,” Tieran stated firmly. “You will make a better king than I ever could. But, I am still going with you unless you outright order me to stay behind. Then, I shall be forced to find some other troubling business in which to involve myself.”

Rezkin stared at Tieran. Like Kai and Reaylin, this vassal was stubborn and determined to undermine his authority, all the while claiming loyalty. “Fine,” he said. “But, if you come, you will make yourself useful in whatever manner I deem necessary.”

“Yes, your majesty,” Tieran said with a dubious grin.

Rezkin considered using Tieran to gain entrance to the duke’s manner during the day but rejected the idea almost immediately. If the household staff knew any of them were present, they would be keeping a close eye. Later that night, Rezkin led Tieran and Wesson on a circuitous route through the city and then across the hillside leading to the duke’s estate. With each turn and hurdle the two stragglers struggled to overcome, they noted once again how Rezkin was unlike the average man.

The trio slid into the shadows along an outer wall, the same one Rezkin had scaled in order to gain entrance from the roof on his previous visit. The warrior knew that, while Tieran was fit, he would not be able to scale the wall, and Wesson would certainly fail at the task. He turned to the duke’s son and said, “Now, life mage, perform your function,” as he pointed up the stone precipice.

Tieran groaned under his breath. “Rezkin, I am not a mage…”

Rezkin stopped the young man before he could finish. “I am going up the wall to scout ahead. I will return in five minutes, and if you both are not up there, I will assume you changed your minds and turned back.” In truth, Rezkin would assume no such thing. If they did not show, he would go looking for them to make sure they had not been caught, but they did not need to know that. The warrior turned back to the wall and began scaling the coarse surface, his fingers and boot tips pressing into the small crevices between stones.

Tieran and Wesson both silently watched their friend scale the wall with no aid of ropes or ladders. Finally, their gazes landed on each other. Wesson shrugged and said, “I could blow up the wall so we can walk through, but I do not believe that is what Rezkin intended.”

Tieran groaned again and heaved a sigh. He collected his thoughts and focused on the source of his vimara. He was out of practice, but the power wanted to be released. He found the root system of several nearby trees and encouraged the roots to grow rapidly and unnaturally beneath the lawn between them. Once the roots reached the wall, they bent and thrust from the soil like craggy brown and white snakes. They twisted and thickened as they ascended, finally terminating at the roofline. The young man withdrew his power and released a pent up breath.

Wesson smiled in appreciation of Tieran’s talent. “That was most impressive. You would make an excellent life mage, I think.”

Tieran grumbled something incoherent as he tested the strength of the root rope. “You have to get rid of it, though,” he tossed over his shoulder as he began to climb. Wesson’s smile faded. Of course he would be asked to destroy the living construction.

When the two men finally pulled themselves onto the roof, Rezkin was waiting for them. He simply nodded in approval and then ordered Wesson to remove the evidence. From the courtyard where they entered, it was only a short distance to the room where Rezkin first discovered the warded entrance to the underground chamber or passage. Few guards were stationed within the estate, and none were patrolling this particular section. The duke probably felt he had little cause for concern with his heavy usage of wards.

Squatting around the sealed portal in the floor, mage stone in hand, Rezkin pointed out to the mages what he had detected. “You are quite right,” Wesson remarked. “There is definitely a strong ward here, and it will alert the caster if disrupted.”

“But you can do something about that, yes?” Rezkin asked.

Wesson scratched his head and looked up thoughtfully. After a few moments of contemplation he said, “I think I can.”

“You think?” the warrior pressed.

“Well, it should work, if the ward is designed the way I believe it to be. I can disable the ward, but I cannot guarantee the caster will not be alerted. I would say there is …oh…about a seventy percent chance this will work,” the mage clarified.

Rezkin shook his head. “I do not need you to disable the ward. I only need you to prevent anyone from receiving the alarm.”

Sighing heavily, Wesson said, “It would be easier if I knew how you intended to get through the ward without disabling it.” He pondered the conundrum for a few more minutes. “I believe I can manipulate the detection spell to loop back into the ward. It is independent from the warning spell. So long as the ward exists, the detection spell will not active the warning. Nobody would consider safeguarding against such a manipulation since people cannot simply pass through wards,” he finished with a pointed look at the young warrior.

“If Wesson does not disarm the ward, how are he and I going to get through?” Tieran inquired.

“I have never tried it, but I believe I can get you through. It may be possible to extend my focus shield to the two of you,” Rezkin stated.

Wesson scowled and argued, “Mundanes cannot make shields, but even if you could, there would be no way to extend it to someone else. Your focus is within your own mind and body and is not in any way related to the two of us.”

Rezkin waved a hand and said, “No, no. You are looking at it backward. The ward is dependent on the caster’s will, and that will is dependent on the ward’s perception. With my focus, I can change the ward’s perception so the three of us can pass.”

Wesson shook his head adamantly, and Tieran’s face was a mixture of disdain and confusion. “That makes absolutely no sense!” Wesson exclaimed. “You are saying the ward is dependent on the will and the will is dependent on the ward. It is circular…a paradox. And, spells do not act on perception. They do not make decisions. They follow a certain set parameters and that is it!”

Rezkin shrugged. “We will see.”

Five minutes later, all three of the intruders were standing in a dark subterranean corridor, and, to their knowledge, no one had received an alert. Wesson’s confidence was shaken, since everything he thought he knew about spellcraft seemed to mean absolutely nothing in Rezkin’s presence. He felt as though he had somehow missed something vital in his time as an apprentice. If this was the way magic truly worked, then he had no business contemplating mastery anytime soon.

Tieran was disturbed, as well. With how discouraging and disappointed his father had been with his apparent lack of talent, Tieran had never cared much for his mage skills. Rezkin’s ability, however, completely undermined not only his basic understanding of magic, but also his confidence in mage wards and his sense of security. If any mundane could learn the skill, what good would wards be? Never again would he be able to sleep comfortably when his safety was dependent on such a barrier.

The tunnel was lit every few paces by small mage stones. Even with the miniscule light, the haunting blackness was daunting. The passage branched off once, but Rezkin guided them straight ahead. The floor began to slope downward, and the corridor eventually ended at a flight of cracked and broken stone stairs. The fissure in which the stairs ended was no longer part of the manor. The walls, floor, and ceiling were those of a natural cavern, and from its depths emanated echoed cries and wails of tortured souls.

Gripped by sudden terror, Tieran wanted nothing more than to turn around and run back to the relative safety of the city. Whether he sensed the young man’s faltering resolve or heard the gurgling whimper of fright that slipped up the noble’s throat, Rezkin recognized Tieran’s distress and lent a comforting grip upon his shoulder. Wesson stared intently down the poorly lit passage hoping that if he stared hard enough, nothing could reach him.

Rezkin squeezed both men’s shoulders and then led the way down the passage. The air was cool and damp with a light, malodorous breeze. The first of the cells came as a surprise upon turning a corner. The trio gazed across the vast expanse of the twisting cavern and saw another world – one that should not exist.

The terrifying wails and cries were not of tortured spirits – not exactly. They were the agony of people – living people. The inhabitants were mostly women, but some men and children sprawled amongst them. They were trapped in cells and cages and chained to the floor or walls with thick iron manacles. Human waste was smeared across every surface, but it was not as thick as would have been expected. The reason for that was evident. These people were little better than cadavers. Their bodies were so wasted and emaciated that they were surely dead and their souls did not yet know it.

Tieran spied a skeleton close to his side. The bones still bore pale, nearly transparent flesh, but only a few strands of long, faded brown hair remained upon the skull. The mouth hung slack, and within the gaping maw, he could see that only a few teeth remained. The jaw moved. A pale tongue slid past withered lips. The eyelids slid back and bulging yellow orbs rolled in his direction. Tieran’s knees buckled and struck the floor hard as he wretched. Not a skeleton – a person trapped inside a dying shell.

Rezkin frowned down at the evidence of their passing. He tapped Wesson on the shoulder to gain his attention. Wesson turned startled, vacant eyes on the warrior. It was simply too much for the sensitive, young mage to handle. The warrior shook the mage and patted his face firmly. The young man’s eyes finally focused, and he whispered, “Is this a dungeon? Are these prisoners?”

“Not of the criminal sort. This is something darker,” Rezkin replied. He stopped the mage from speaking further by raising a finger to his lips. The warrior pointed to the mess on the floor and made a sweeping motion to indicate it need to be removed. Wesson nodded and then cast a simple spell. At least, it should have been simple. It took few moments for the mage to gather his focus enough to perform the entry-level spell.

Rezkin helped the young lord to his feet and made sure he was steady before pulling the two along. They made a steady circuit of the cavern. It was not an open, clear space. The cavern twisted and turned around shallow pools, natural columns and massive mounds of stalagmites. Wesson struck his head on one particularly long stalactite, even after their leader had warned him of the danger.

After completing their survey, Rezkin determined that, of the several dozen bodies, only about thirty were still breathing. Of those, perhaps ten or twelve had a chance of survival if they received immediate care. A dark-haired young woman, who looked to have only been there for maybe a couple of weeks, was in better condition than the rest. She whispered pleas for help, her pale skin and sunken cheeks belied her apparent strength as her large brown eyes looked on and begged. When the trio passed her by, she simply collapsed and lay with her face pressed to the cold, hard floor.

Rezkin led the others into another dark corridor. Tieran protested as they left the dying people behind. “We cannot just leave them there!” he hissed.

“Silence,” Rezkin ordered with a cold glare. When Tieran looked about to argue, the warrior spoke in a hushed tone, “We must finish our reconnaissance. What could we do for them now? Where would we take them? How would we get them there? Those people cannot walk in their condition, and taking them up through the duke’s manor is not an option. We will continue ahead and then plan our actions accordingly.”

As they plodded along the corridor, they began to hear the steady drumming of the sea. Inspection of a dark recess to one side revealed a wooden door. The door was heavily warded, but between the mage and Rezkin, they were able to pass. In addition to subverting the ward, Rezkin had to pick the lock on the door, which earned him a couple of raised brows. Most wholesome people did not know how to pick locks.

Once beyond the door, the trio of intruders found themselves in a small office. Several chests and drawers contained incriminating items. “What is this?” Wesson asked. “Some kind of trade logs?”

“Slavers’ logs,” Rezkin replied as he sifted through a stack of parchments. “Apparently, the duke has been running a profitable slave trade under the Council’s nose. Rezkin tapped one of the more recent entries and said, “It looks like business has run dry recently. He has not logged any sales in a couple of weeks. It explains the starving inventory. It could be due to the tournament, but I think it may have more to do with Caydean’s machinations.”

“What do you mean?” asked Tieran.

Rezkin shook his head. “I am not sure. Caydean has been antagonizing all of the other kingdoms. He has cut off trade and increased trade levies, and he is building up troops, including a sizeable navy. More military vessels are patrolling the area, and Caydean’s informants are scrutinizing each noble’s every expense. The duke may be having a difficult, if not impossible, time operating his business under the current circumstances.”

“So he just left these people here to starve to death?” Tieran scoffed.

Rezkin shrugged. “What was he supposed to do with them? He cannot let them go, and he probably did not kill them in hopes that he still might get a bit of coin in a last minute deal. Since he has obviously neglected to feed or care for them, he must think his chances of selling them at this point are pretty poor.”

“They are not products, Rezkin. They are people!” the young noble protested.

“Of course, I know that and you know that. I was only speaking from the duke’s perspective,” Rezkin assured the young man.

“So what are we going to do?” Tieran asked.

“We are going to finish our search of this tunnel,” the warrior replied.

The search did not take long. It was only a few dozen paces to the end where the cave opened to a small, rocky beach that curved around an inlet that was blocked from the wind and prying eyes by jagged cliffs. “This explains how they are able to move people in and out without being seen,” the mage remarked.

“We will need to commandeer a ship,” the warrior said as his eyes slid over the black expanse of rock and wave.

Chapter 24

The mood was somber as the three men sought their beds that night. On the way out of the estate, they had to evade two separate groups of guards, which Tieran and Wesson thought odd, since they had encountered none upon entering. With Rezkin’s expert guidance, they were able to escape without detection. Before they left, though, the intruders found a few bent tin cups and carried water from the cave pools to those captives who were still alive. Rezkin intended to return several times over the next few days to provide the survivors with food. Anything he did, though, had to be unnoticeable to the duke, and Rezkin was dependent upon the captives’ gratitude and desperation to keep them quiet. He was already formulating a plan for their escape, but he could not implement it until the end of the tournament. With any luck, Ytrevius would be so busy with tournament business that he would simply forget about the abandoned slaves for a while.

When morning came, the companions found their way to the arena to witness the second half of the first round of the Melee. Sergeant Millins, who had taken the night shift, remained at the inn. Since Jimson was out of the competition, he resumed his guard duties, and he and Lieutenant Drascon stayed close to the group. The Jebai guards hovered around Shiela, since she was the one most likely to instigate trouble and was unable to defend herself. A couple of Tieran’s guards kept watch along the perimeter. The group was large, but they kept a low profile in the crowds.

Tieran had even foregone his usual ostentatious finery for a fine, but simple, charcoal surcoat over a white shirt and dark trousers. He had scorned his manservant’s assistance that morning, and when he finally emerged from their room, even his guards looked at him strangely. One look at the young man’s haunted eyes, though, and everyone opted to let him be. Only Wesson and Rezkin knew the cause of the young lord’s distress, and neither deigned to share. For his part, Wesson was not much better. As they walked through the crowded streets, his eyes lingered on the poorer citizens, those already begging for scraps, and he said little.

“Jimson, I have noticed a sharp increase in the military presence in the city in the last few days. What do you know if it?” Rezkin asked.

The captain shook his head and replied, “I do not know. I noticed, as well, and asked around. If there is a good reason, none of the officers with whom I spoke know of it. It seems that information is being kept on a need-to-know basis. Perhaps they have received reports of threats to the city?”

Rezkin frowned. He did not like being blind to such important information as troop movements, particularly in the city in which he and his friends were staying. Since he had no time to investigate, he hoped Kai came back with some intelligence on the matter. This city’s thieves would not be particularly useful in getting information, but perhaps some of the employees of the brothels could help.

“This city is overcrowded as it is with all the travelers and merchants. Why do they not keep these men on the ships if there is a threat?” Rezkin pondered.

Jimson furrowed his brow and said, “Because they are not keeping the ships at port. The ships come in, drop off the troops and leave, only to return with more troops.”

“They are divesting the mainland of its troops, only to trap them on an island?” Rezkin asked in dismay.

“It seems so, but I would not be too concerned for the mainland. Apparently, the forts are filling up, and numerous temporary posts have been erected, much like the one at Port Manai, I presume,” the captain stated.

“The muster,” Rezkin observed. “All of these troops and still Caydean wants more. The draft has gone to vote as of yesterday.”

Jimson started in surprise, “Has it? I had not heard, although somehow it does not surprise me that you know of it already. Still, I cannot imagine the Council approving a draft without a formal declaration of war.”

“Two of the councilors have been removed and replaced with Caydean’s supporters,” Rezkin informed.

“What? But how?” Jimson exclaimed.

“Caydean accused them of embezzling from the kingdom’s taxes and restricting the travel of potential recruits. He also stated his belief that they were plotting some sort of coup, but he did not provide any evidence of the latter.”

“And the former?” Jimson asked.

“Unfortunately, the first was true only in the sense that the lords refused to tax their subjects any more because their people are already beginning to starve. From what I understand, they did not so much restrict travel as they encouraged the young men to stay and work their trades and farms to keep the economy functioning and food in the markets,” the warrior explained.

“And what of these new councilors?” the captain asked.

“Caydean’s men. He appointed them, himself, without allowing the Council to vote on the matter.”

“He oversteps his bounds,” Jimson protested.

“That he does, but right now the other councilors are all too busy looking out for their own interests to mount any kind of organized protest, not that they could hope for much success. One thing upon which everyone seems to agree is that Caydean is not altogether sane, yet he has an immense amount of power. Not only is he a powerful mage in his own right, he has also garnered the support of a number of likeminded and power-hungry Houses. Many of these Houses see this as their opportunity to step up in the tiers when the larger Houses begin to fall. Of course, Caydean also has the support of the strikers and the army,” Rezkin said with a pointed look.

Jimson cleared his throat and refused to meet Rezkin’s gaze as he said, “Yes, well, the army serves the kingdom, and Caydean is the king.”

“What of my father?” Tieran quickly asked. “What has he to say of this?”

“Your father is no longer in Kaibain,” Rezkin answered. “None of the dukes are in the capital. They have all retreated to their country estates.”

“So the Council is in turmoil, and he just left?” Tieran scoffed.

Rezkin frowned as he replied, “It is probably for the best. If the dukes intend to put any pressure on the king at all, they will not be able to do so from within the Council. It is obvious that Caydean does not intend to heed the words of the Council for much longer, if at all, and Kaibain has become a dangerous place. With these latest blows to the Council, I think it will not be long before the dukes are forced to either fall in line and support their king or declare their intent to divest the king of his crown. You can be sure the dukes’ fallback is a calculated military maneuver.”

“You are saying there will be civil war in the near future?” Tieran asked in amazement.

“Events are progressing much faster than I expected,” Rezkin replied quietly as the crowd pressed in to squeeze through the outer portico of the arena. The companions did not talk more about the kingdom or anything of import during the Melee competition.

The Melee that day garnered an even larger crowd since the news of the event’s brutality passed quickly through the city. Spectators were drawn by the gory and quite deadly event, and Rezkin hoped it was a matter of morbid curiosity and not an intrinsic desire for blood.

No one died in the first few matches, but one man lost a hand and another was nearly cleaved in two. Luckily, the skilled healers were able to put them back together. Frisha asked, “What do you think of the competition, Rez? I did not get to hear your thoughts on it yesterday, since you were…indisposed.”

“It disturbs and sickens me that anyone would celebrate the mechanisms of destroying life. Killing is sometimes a terrible necessity. It is not a form of entertainment to be enjoyed,” the warrior answered.

“I did not think to hear you say that with your liege participating,” the young woman replied.

“He does not compete for the sake of the competition. He has other motivations,” Rezkin replied as he watched a spear-wielding dark-skinned Pruari dance circles around a rough-looking Jerese with a long, spiked club. Both men carried shields. The Jerese’s was a wooden buckler with an outer iron ring and shield boss, and the Pruari’s was longer and made from the carapace of some kind giant shelled creature. Rezkin had never seen anything like it, and he hoped to have the opportunity to compete against the man so he could get a better look.

The tiresome gossiping of Shiela and her new friends broke through his analysis when he realized they were talking about him.

“His name is Rezkin, and he is a close friend of the family. He is a Swordmaster,” Shiela bragged, “and his body is absolute perfection.”

Malcius cringed and glanced at Rezkin with an apologetic look. Rezkin tried to ignore the impertinent girl’s remarks.

“Who, him? Gutterspit! He is too young to be a Swordmaster,” one of the young men scoffed.

Another with a nasally voice interjected, “And, he seems awfully close with your cousin.”

Shiela sniffed. “Well, he will not be marrying her. Our uncle put a stop to that. He knows that Rezkin is way out of Frisha’s league, so he refused the match. Really, he was doing Rezkin a favor. I think he only wanted her because he sees her as some kind of charity case.”

Rezkin made to stand and confront the woman, but Frisha gripped his arm shaking her head adamantly. Her face was flushed, and moisture glistened in her eyes. Rezkin held his seat and gripped her hand in what he believed to be a comforting gesture. Malcius, however, was not inclined to allow the conversation to continue. He was ashamed to admit, even to himself, that he still had his misgivings about his commoner cousin, but he respected Rez and was exceedingly frustrated with his sister’s unladylike behavior.

“Please, Malcius, just let it go. I do not wish to make a scene,” Frisha implored.

Malcius clenched his jaw, but seeing the threat of tears in his cousin’s eyes, relented. “Fine, but I will be having strong words with her this evening. I will restrict her to her room for the rest of the tournament if I must.”

Another conversation broke the uncomfortable moment, this one from a group of strangers nearby. “Who, Dark Tidings? He obviously doesn’t have the stomach for bloodshed. Sure, he has the skills, but I doubt he has the fortitude for battle,” a rotund man in a sweat saturated silk shirt announced. Gold chains hung from his neck, and various colored gems flashed on his fingers. He appeared to be a very successful merchant.

“What are you talking about?” a smaller but no less garishly dressed man exclaimed. “He defeated every one of his opponents, and he never even got a scratch! He didn’t even need to injure his opponents!”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying. He doesn’t have it in him to injure them, much less kill them! He is obviously weak,” the heavy man replied with a self-satisfied grin.

“What does you be saying?” came a powerful bass voice from a few rows away. The giant of a man stood towering over those around him. It was the great ax-wielding mountain chieftain who had competed in the Melee the previous day. Rezkin had not had the opportunity to fight the man, but he knew him to be a formidable warrior. He, too, had won all of his matches.

“Stay out of this, barbarian. We were not speaking to you,” the rotund merchant retorted.

“I am not liking your disrespect of a worthy opponent,” the mountain man firmly stated in broken and heavily accented Ashaiian.

“You, a mountain barbarian known for excessive violence and brutality, would defend the honor of a man who dares not even draw blood?” the merchant scoffed in dismay.

The mountain chieftain stood straight, a broad, white smile gracing his thickly bearded face. “I am thinking he is not taking of blood to be showing that he can win without. It is like being fighting against young children. You are not cutting off their arms or they will be having no arms to fight with when they grow bigger.”

“So, he’s toying with them?” the thinner merchant questioned.

“No, he is not needing to be taking blood to win. For my people, to be taking of blood in combat is for to have honor, but we are strong and sturdy, not soft like these lowlanders,” the hulk replied. The merchants started to protest, but the chieftain continued, “He is being skilled with these light lowlander weapons. I am thinking I would like to be seeing if he can lift a great ax. Then, he would be being a truly worthy opponent.” The chieftain’s proposal was met by raucous cheering from his mountain comrades. The merchants muttered to themselves, and the chieftain returned to his seat amongst boisterous tales of battleaxes and glory-filled combat.

“I mostly agree with the merchant,” a young noble man seated in the row closest to Rezkin’s group stated.

“Why?” asked a younger boy who appeared to be his brother.

“Because he won all those matches by underhanded tactics. He tripped them or knocked them in the head or some such. Not once did he win the bout using his actual weapon. He either does not know how to win a fight with a weapon, or he is unwilling to hurt people,” the young man remarked.

“Is that such a bad thing?” asked the little brother.

The young man shrugged. “Perhaps. I guess it depends on why he leaves them unscathed. I hear he is competing in the Fifth Tier. He will have to use his sword to win, so we will see how well he performs, then. I think that will be the true measure of his skill.”

It was actually Malcius who interjected this time. “You think a sword duel with strict rules is a better measure of the man’s skill than a battle with no rules and any number of various weapons?”

The young man turned and eyed his questioner. Seeing a group of finely dressed nobles, he must have decided Malcius’s question was worthy of an answer. “Of course. In here, he is little better than a brawler. He wins however he can, and maybe it requires some strategy, but it is also a good amount of trickery and luck. He has that amazing black sword, and he has barely even used the thing. Can he even wield it properly?”

“He disarmed Sir LuDou, the Captain of the Royal Guard for King Desbian of Torrel in his pre-trial! The man was a tournament champion!” Malcius exclaimed.

The young noble shrugged and said, “So you say. I did not see it and have heard only rumors. If he is so good, then he should do well in the Fifth.” The man turned back to watch the Melee without another concern.

Tam leaned in and said, “Well, Dark Tidings certainly got everyone’s attention. They’re all talking about him.”

By the end of the round, Malcius was so anxious, he could not keep his seat. A two-hour break stood between the morning and afternoon sessions, and both the First and Second Tier finals were to be held that afternoon. The First Tier would go first, so Malcius had several more hours before he had to compete. Only four competitors were left in his tier, so he would already win a prize. Each of the competitors would fight three matches, one against each of the other opponents. The two with the lowest scores would go on to fight the final duel, and the winner of the tournament would be whoever won that duel, regardless of the number of points he previously accrued.

Palis and Brandt excused themselves from the group without offering an excuse, much to Malcius’s dismay, and Drascon and one of the Jebai guards were forced to accompany the two young men in whatever excursion they planned. Wesson opted to take lunch with the baron and Waylen, and Reaylin was nowhere to be seen. The remaining party enjoyed a refreshing midday meal of seafood bisque and fresh tropical fruit. Malcius was so anxious he could barely hold his lunch.

When it finally came to his competition, Malcius was grateful to have Rezkin’s help dealing with his anxiety. The young warrior led the Jebai through several breathing techniques used for focusing the mind. Rezkin did not truly comprehend Malcius’s reticence toward the competition, but he remembered some of his own anxiety experienced before battles when he was younger. The masters had cured him of the affliction quickly. The warrior did not think the same methods of treatment would be appropriate in this situation.

Before Malcius’s first bout began, the companions had all regained seats in the stands when Palis and Brandt showed up with an unexpected guest.

“What have we here?” Tieran asked in surprise.

Palis’s grin could have lit the arena in the darkest hour of the night. “This is Mistress Yserria Rey, the Fifth Tier competitor I was telling you about.” The young woman blushed and smiled shyly. In this moment, she exuded none of the extreme confidence she had expressed when Rezkin met her as Dark Tidings during registration. She was reserved and anxious.

The younger Jebai then proceeded to introduce his companions in order of proximity, rather than status – for the most part. He was sure to introduce Tieran first. “Yserria, these are my friends: Lord Tieran Nirius, Heir of Wellinven; Lord Rezkin; my cousin, Lady Frisha, Heir of Marcum; and her friend Master Tamarin. There is Lord Drom Nasque, Baron of Fendendril and his son Waylen. Next to him is Journeyman Wesson, Rezkin’s battle mage.”

Yserria’s eyes widened at that revelation, and the others grinned knowingly. Wesson rolled his eyes as Waylen snickered. With decidedly less enthusiasm, Palis introduced the next. “The young woman over there is my sister, Shiela.” With pride he said, “As you know, my older brother, Malcius, is down on the field about to compete. Let me not forget the good Captain Jimson who is in charge of our military escort. The other men there are Jebai, Nirius, and Nasque House Guards, so do not be alarmed if they pay us close attention.”

“So this was the mysterious business to which you had to attend,” Tieran jested.

Palis flushed and said, “Yes, well, I may have convinced Mistress Yserria to join me for lunch. Brandt insisted on joining us in case Lieutenant Drascon and Guent were not guard enough,” he said with chagrin.

“Was their intent to guard you from the lovely Swordmaster?” Tieran prodded. He was quite enjoying himself at Palis’s expense.

The young woman suddenly became serious and shook her head vigorously. “Oh, no, I never claimed to be a Swordmaster.”

Rezkin interjected, “Perhaps not, but you made it into the Fifth Tier competition, in which a number of Swordmasters are competing. If you defeat even one of them, you will have the right to claim the title.”

Yserria bowed her head in acknowledgement of the comment and looked around curiously. “Are all of you competing, as well?”

Palis answered for the group. “Lord Tieran is competing in the rapier division. His next round is on the morrow. Captain Jimson made it to the second round of the Third Tier. Lord Waylen competed in the third round of First Tier. Another is traveling with us – a young woman by the name of Reaylin. I had thought to introduce the two of you. She made it into round two of the First Tier. She was quite eager to meet an accomplished swordswoman.”

The young woman’s face flushed red, again, which was quite becoming on her pale skin against her green eyes and fiery hair. She eyed Rezkin’s swords and ventured to ask, “Are you not competing as well, Lord Rezkin?”

Brandt snorted. “He is too good to compete. He would wipe the arena with…well, with everyone.”

Rezkin raised a questioning brow at the young Gerrand.

“What? I only speak truth,” Brandt stated defensively. Yserria looked at Brandt questioningly. “Rezkin is a Duel-Blade Swordmaster,” the young man answered to her unspoken question.

“Wow, that is impressive,” Yserria said in fascination. “You are here, and he says you could win. Why do you not compete? Ah…if you do not mind me asking, my lord.”

Rezkin simply shook his head and said, “I have other concerns. And, please, just call me Rezkin.”

Tieran shifted uncomfortably. When first he met Rezkin and was told not use his title, Tieran had thought the man a progressive or simply overconfident. Now he knew that Rezkin was not, in fact, a lord. He was the king, and in Ashai, people did not refer to the king by the lesser title of lord.

“Perhaps you would care to spar with me sometime?” the eager young woman questioned. It was obvious she carried all of her confidence in her swordsmanship. When it came to swords, she tended to forget herself completely. “I have never sparred against a dual-swordsman of any skill, much less a master. In truth, I have not had the opportunity to spar with any masters – aside from my father, of course, and that has been some time,” she finished sadly.

“How is it that your father was so skilled with the sword?” Tieran asked.

“Oh, my father was once in the Queen’s Royal Guard in Lon Lerésh.”

Tieran whistled in surprise. “That is not a position I would envy. I hear they do not last long.”

Yserria frowned and said seriously, “No, that is true. In Lon Lerésh, whoever can claim the throne can hold it by rights, no matter how she gains it – so long as she’s a woman.” The young swordswoman said this last with a grin before becoming serious again. “Unfortunately, that means the Royal Guard are quite busy trying to keep their queen alive. My father saved Queen Deseria’s life on several occasions. When her own brother killed her so his wife could be queen, my father and a few of his comrades escaped and fled the kingdom. Usually, the new monarch will have all of the former guard executed, so the guards truly have a vested interest in keeping their queen alive.”

“That is harsh,” Brandt remarked.

The group chatted amicably for a while as they enjoyed watching the finalists compete. When Malcius finally had his turn, he appeared with cool grace, despite his rampaging nerves. Malcius’s performance was excellent for his skill level. He received the lowest score in his first two matches, but in the end, he was simply out matched and acquired too many points to make it into the final round. Placing third in the Second Tier competition was still a commendable accomplishment, and he had plenty of well-wishers and admirers. In fact, afterward, no fewer than four fathers approached him inquiring as to whether or not he was open to marriage contract negotiations.

The rapier division and Third Tier competitions were held the next morning in the second arena, while the opening matches of the Fourth Tier were held throughout the day in the first. Out of the original thirty-six contestants, Tieran finished in eighth place. Palis made it to round four of Tier Three, ultimately earning fifth place. Yserria had joined the group to watch the young man’s performance. She was impressed with several of his forms that she had never seen before, for which Malcius was quick to credit Rezkin’s tutelage. Rezkin waved off the compliment saying that it was Palis’s dedication and diligence that enabled him to perform the complex forms so well.

In the afternoon, several of the comrades headed to the main arena to watch the Fourth Tier competition. Rhesh Carinen, the fire mage and second son of Lord Carinen who had stayed at the nobles’ inn in Port Manai, was competing at that time. Although he would probably not notice them, the group wanted to lend him their support, if for no other reason than to spite his father and sadistic brother.

Rezkin had other plans. Strange events were happening in the city, and his instincts were telling him that something big was about to occur. The influx of army soldiers had only increased, and even Duke Ytrevius appeared unnerved. Fewer of the duke’s forces were patrolling the streets, as they seemed to be gathering at the estate. Rezkin never got the opportunity to further investigate Hespion, since the man left the island the day before in an unexpected departure from his plans.

Rezkin noted during his last couple of visits to Ytrevius’s slave prison that it appeared no one had been in the cave, except for the warrior and his companions, since they first discovered the place. Rezkin and Kai snuck in several times during the day and night to tend to those who could use their help. Unfortunately, several more of the slaves had died in that short amount of time. The young warrior set Kai to the task of securing a vessel and provided him with funds and a number of forged documents to smooth the way.

In the meantime, Rezkin set out to secure much needed information, both through his own efforts and those of his thieves. What he found was not positive. Although he did not know what was set to occur, everything he found pointed to the tournament finale as being of particular import. That night, he called a meeting with his travel companions informing them that they were to have all of their belongings packed by the morning of the final day of the tournament. In addition, they were not to let on that they were concerned or preparing to leave in a hurry. Rezkin also insisted that Tieran continue to stay at the inn, rather than returning to the duke’s estate. With a few loosely contrived excuses, the young noble sent for his belongings and retainers.

The following day was the beginning of the Fifth Tier tournament. Upon his arrival at the tournament grounds, Rezkin noticed that five strikers were now keeping a lookout for Dark Tidings. They were quite perturbed when he appeared, once again, amongst the crowd in the middle of the square without them noticing.

The Fifth Tier held only twenty-four competitors. Rezkin would have to fight three opponents in the morning and then another three in the afternoon after the conclusion of the Third Tier and the second round of the Fourth. Dark Tiding’s first opponent was a sophisticated nobleman from the Kingdom of Gendishen. The man was quick and agile but held his poise as though not to be ruffled by the slightest breeze. Dark Tidings scored three points against him in a matter of moments.

The man bowed and said, “I have not been beaten so swiftly in years. I had thought it not much further for I to reach perfection. I can see, now, that I was wrong. Good show.”

The wraith’s second opponent was Darius Vaughnright, the commoner saddler he had sponsored for the competition. Darius was quite good, if not yet a master. He had already acquired two points in his first match, and quickly gained another three facing Dark Tidings. Neither opponent had been easy. With the restrictions of the duel, it had taken quite a bit of effort to draw blood on each of them three times without acquiring any injuries himself. Rezkin’s plan required him to complete the competition unscathed with zero points. It was not that he thought himself infallible or believed he could not be killed or injured. It was that he was fashioning an indomitable persona. He was creating an undefeatable king in whose strength and presence people could place their hopes and faith. When their world began to collapse around them, the people could rally behind his banner.

Dark Tiding’s third opponent of the morning was the treacherous Dynen Carinen. Dynen had surprised his opponents with his skill and cunning and had come out the better for it with only two points accrued in his first two matches. The pompous braggart paraded his wins and insulted the other contestants, but there was no denying his skill with a blade.

Green lightning flickered through the sleek, black blade as the weapons clashed. Dark Tidings swept the noble’s blade aside and brought his own back around for a slash to the man’s bicep. Dynen scowled and spit at the dark warrior as he danced away. “Only a coward hides behind a mask,” he taunted. The man’s voice boomed throughout the arena as the mages amplified any words the combatants spoke.

Dark Tidings cocked his head in that eerie manner and then flew at the man with unnatural speed. The clashing of the blades was punctuated with green flashes, each one closing faster than the next. Dynen’s eyes widened as the speed became furious, and he could no longer keep up the pace. The black blade swept around as if to take his head. Shifting at the last second, it collided with the silvery master blade. The blow was so strong, the Carinen heir could not hope to keep his grip, and the sword went flying a good thirty paces. Dynen gripped his hand as it screamed in agony from the force of the blow. He seethed pure hatred at the mysterious warrior. Dark Tidings simply bowed and walked calmly to his position at the side of the arena.

Yserria grinned widely and nodded appreciatively toward the dark warrior. Dynen had been particularly aggressive with the young woman while expressing his disdain for her as both a commoner and a woman who needed to “learn her place.” Yserria had managed to grace Dynen with one of his bleeding cuts.

At the end of the round, two of the commoners Dark Tidings had sponsored, Aspion and Darius, had proven themselves worthy of the Fifth Tier but accrued too many points to continue in the competition. The young farmer, Holton, and Yserria both made it into the second round, as did Dynen, unfortunately.

Dark Tidings “disappeared” for the few hours between the morning session and the second round of the Fifth. He was gratified to see that Rhesh made it into the Fourth Tier finals. His friends had been rooting for the young man, and Rezkin appreciated the man’s strength of character. It was not everyday a younger son had the strength to endure and defy his father and older brother, particularly when the two were so vicious.

Yserria had the unlucky draw to be pitted against Dark Tidings for their first match that afternoon. The young swordswoman performed well, earning seventh place. She could now truly call herself a Swordmaster, having defeated several in her journey to the top. More than one irritating noble had his ego bruised by the beautiful, young commoner.

Only six competitors would go on to the third round to be held the following afternoon after the final bouts of the Melee competition. Assuming Dark Tidings won both competitions, he would have to fight fourteen matches throughout the day and evening. Rezkin was not the only one to take note of the demanding schedule. In addition to the regular rampant betting on match winners and score counts, an entire betting series was based wholly on how many of the fourteen matches Dark Tidings could complete, how many he could win without acquiring a point, how many he would win by disarming his opponent and so on. Rezkin, however, was not concerned. Fighting fourteen matches against various Weapons Masters was all in a day’s training for the young warrior.

After the tournament ended for the day, Rezkin found his friends in the common room of the Jebais’ inn. The place was crowded, much more so than it had been several days prior. With calculating eyes, Rezkin noted that many of the patrons appeared to be soldiers out of uniform. His group of friends was seated around a couple of small, round tables in one corner, which already held several tankards of ale and a basket of fresh bread.

Rezkin greeted his friends after taking a seat beside Frisha, which she indicated she had been saving for him. The young warrior thanked his Girl Friend and asked, “Frisha, how has your day been? Have you been meeting many of the other nobles and making new acquaintances?”

“Oh, yes,” she replied, her voice filled with both excitement and anxiety. “Malcius and Tieran have been introducing me to some of their…um…associates.”

She glanced at the two nobles, uncertainly. Everyone had been amicable and discussed gossip and business openly, but neither Malcius nor Tieran had seemed particularly close to the lords and ladies she had been meeting while Rezkin was off doing his business. “Lord Tieran was kind enough to introduce me as his friend to some of the ladies,” she said as she smiled in thanks to the duke’s son. Tieran nodded in response but quickly turned his attention elsewhere as if unconcerned. Frisha had also been surprised that Malcius actually claimed her as his cousin, but she thought it would be rude to point that out.

“I am glad to hear it,” Rezkin responded with a nod of thanks to his friends.

After a few minutes of chatter, Palis turned to the redheaded woman beside him for a more serious conversation. “Yserria, you said that you have no family, and you made no mention of a guardian. Is there anyone who speaks on your behalf? Anyone who cares for you and sees to your needs?”

The swordswoman lifted her chin and said, “I can speak for myself, and you know I am capable of defending myself, as well. I need no keeper.”

Palis furrowed his brow and chewed his lip pensively. The young man glanced to his older brother who frowned and shook his head in the negative. Palis swallowed tightly and then straightened with a resolute set of the jaw. Malcius sighed heavily and buried his face in one hand.

The younger Jebai solemnly stated, “Yserria Rey, I would ask your permission to formally court you. My intent is to gain your favor so that we may enter into a marriage contract, should you choose to bless me in such a way.”

Yserria’s eyes widened in her pale, freckled face, and her jaw hung open in surprise. Malcius cleared his throat rather loudly and gave Palis a warning look. The younger man’s face dropped slightly, but he nodded understanding before he continued. “I have not gained the blessing of my House, but if my father approves the union, I can offer you a title and the wealth due to me. If, however, my father rejects the proposal, I am prepared to renounce my title. Should such be the case, I will be able to offer you little but my own love and devotion.”

The young woman shook her head vigorously before uttering, “B-but we just met!” Palis frowned and looked at the young woman questioningly. “How am I supposed to think about marrying someone if I don’t even know him?” Yserria blurted. “I mean, you’re leaving soon, and I’ll still be here in Skutton. How are we supposed to court?”

Palis cleared his throat and replied, “Well, ideally, if you were a noble, I would spend time at your estate socializing with your family, discussing business deals, and taking you on outings. In turn, you and your guardian or escort would visit my estate for the same purposes.” The young man shifted uncomfortably and said, “But, you do not have an estate or family with whom to discuss such things, and I am not certain you would be welcomed in my family home.”

Tieran and Malcius were both irritated by the whole scenario. While both had changed their views on the way nobles were meant to regard the lower classes, neither approved of nobles mixing blood with commoners. Still, if Palis were going to leap off a cliff, they would at least attempt to minimize the damage.

Tieran leaned forward and said, “Palis, if you are serious about this courtship, whether your father approves or not, at the very least, she must either choose a guardian to speak for her interests and ensure her respectability or one must be assigned to her.”

The young woman lifted her chin and crossed her arms defiantly. “I am a grown woman. I do not need a guardian.”

“Maybe not for a commoner,” Malcius remarked, “but if you intend to mix with nobles, you must have one. Believe me. It is for your own good. If you do not believe me, ask Frisha. She has already been dealing with the uncomfortable reality of the differences in the classes.”

Yserria glanced at the young woman in question and then squinted her eyes at the elder Jebai. “I assume this guardian must be a man? In Lon Lerésh, a woman would never allow a man to speak for her.”

Tieran scoffed and said, “You are not in Lon Lerésh.”

“Still, you have not explained how this courtship will work. He cannot stay with me, and I cannot go with him,” the young woman argued.

“I think the first question is, do you want to court him?” Frisha interjected.

Yserria blinked at the young woman, and her cheeks heated, the flush reaching all the way down her neck and blouse to her bosom. She looked back at Palis who was staring at her imploringly. “I-…uh…I mean, I like you, but this is all just so fast…and public.”

Rezkin stepped into the conversation to clarify the point. “This is how it is done with nobles. The intentions are stated at the inception in front of witnesses. If at any time during the courtship you decide you do not wish to continue, you may choose to end said courtship. You are not agreeing to marry him at this time. You are simply agreeing to pursue the possibility. If things go well, it is assumed the courtship will end in marriage. According to protocol, Palis cannot pursue you without your guardian’s agreement to an official courtship.”

“There is also the small point of the dowry,” Brandt reminded the group.

“I don’t have a dowry,” the young woman said immediately. “When my father escaped Lon Lerésh, his concern was only for seeing my mother to safety. She was pregnant with me at the time. They did not take much with them. My mother died when I was two, and my father spent most of his time raising me. He never acquired any wealth.”

Tieran shook his head. “Then your guardian would be expected to provide a suitable dowry for you. To join with the House of a count would require a sizeable sum. The count could choose to waive the requirement, but Simeon has never been a charitable man.” Malcius and Palis both nodded begrudging agreement.

“You expect some stranger to volunteer to give me a fortune?” the woman exclaimed in dismay.

“I do not expect this to go anywhere at all,” Tieran replied.

“Let Rezkin act as her guardian,” said an unexpected voice. The gruff, imposing man stepped into the circle of friends.

“What say you, Kai? Rezkin is not old enough to be her guardian, and neither is he family,” Lieutenant Drascon interjected. He typically kept his counsel to himself, but Kai rubbed him the wrong way.

“Bah, age is of no importance. He is wealthy, he has the requisite knowledge of the social conventions, and he is certainly capable of protecting her if need be. Besides, we all know where his heart is, so there is no concern that he will take advantage of the young woman, not that he would do anything like that. Most importantly, though, he has the authority to act in such a manner, and you know it,” the striker pointed out.

Of course, Drascon knew that Kai considered Rezkin to be his king, but he did not know that anyone else was of the same opinion. The authority to which Kai was referring was solely that of a Sword Bearer of unlimited authority. Drascon clenched his jaw, nodded once in acknowledgement and then looked away. Everybody was surprised at the exchange for several reasons, not the least of which was hearing Drascon voice an opinion on anything. In addition, over half of the people present did not know Rezkin was a Sword Bearer and had no idea what authority Kai and Drascon had both acknowledged.

Every set of eyes landed on Rezkin. “Is that true, Rezkin? Do you have such authority?” Malcius asked with concern. As far as he knew, Drascon had no knowledge of Rezkin being the king’s Voice. Therefore, the lieutenant must be acknowledging some other authority given Rezkin. The only other such authority Malcius could think of was if Rezkin was a priest of the Maker, which the warrior certainly was not.

Rezkin had no idea how he had gotten roped into the conversation. Well, actually, he did. It was thanks to Kai. Again. He had more important things to deal with than a silly, young nobleman wanting to court a sword-wielding common woman with no family or money. The whole scenario once again underscored Rezkin’s unspecified status amongst his friends and the nobles. Rezkin did not like it when they questioned such things, and Kai was bound and determined to make him reveal his secrets. Rezkin had no idea why Kai thought he was an appropriate guardian for a young woman who was several years older than he.

Kai’s assertion that Rezkin would not be interested in pursuing the woman was also unfounded. If things did not work out with his current Girl Friend, Yserria would likely make a good substitute for the position. She had obviously made a significant effort to master at least one of the Skills, despite her less than ideal circumstances, which meant she probably followed many of the Rules, as well. He was not certain that he could trust her when he slept. She did not appear malicious, but only time would tell. He had to admit she was also quite attractive, now that he started to notice such things.

The young warrior was still exploring and coming to terms with what he found to be attractive, since he had seen very little of women at the fort. Those he had seen were at the end of his blade to be executed for one offense or another. Still, thinking about replacing Frisha caused that uncomfortable tightness in his chest, which he had come to realize was some kind of instinctual warning signal that something was wrong.

Rezkin sighed and said, “Yes, technically, I have such authority.”

Malcius immediately jumped on the question, “But, how…”

Before he could complete his question, Frisha heatedly asked, “What makes you think Rezkin wants to be her guardian? Did he offer? No! You just volunteered him. What if he does not want to take responsibility for some strange woman? No offense, Yserria. It’s nothing personal.”

The other woman simply shrugged her understanding. All of this conversation was too far beyond her. These nobles all seemed to expect that other people would make decisions for everyone else.

Frisha continued, “What if he doesn’t want to provide her with a sizeable dowry?”

Yserria thought that, at least, was most certainly a fair question. She never would have considered taking any money from another person without earning it in some way, but these nobles acted as though it was simply expected.

“I could not take money I did not earn,” Yserria protested.

“What exactly do you expect to do to earn such a sum?” Palis asked in exasperated concern.

Yserria scowled at Palis’s insinuation but said, “I am not without skills. I could act as a guard for the illustrious Lord Rezkin if need be.”

“An excellent proposition, that!” Kai barked. “One more Swordmaster to the entourage. We will have a proper Guard in no time,” he said with a grin.

Rezkin nearly groaned as understanding dawned. Kai was trying to build a Royal Guard. He wanted to train new strikers loyal to Rezkin, and he was recruiting. It had all been a setup. The man was cunning, but the suggestion was not without merit.

“I will discuss the matter with Mistress Yserria in private,” the young warrior said. “Where is Journeyman Wesson?” he asked looking around for the young man in question.

“I believe he’s at our inn,” Frisha said with surprised reluctance.

Frisha was torn on the whole matter of Rezkin acting as Yserria’s guardian. On the one hand, she thought Palis’s proposal was immensely romantic, and she was proud of her cousin for overcoming his poor opinion of commoners. She could not believe he was willing to give up his title for the relatively unknown woman. On the other, Yserria was quite beautiful. She had the countenance of a warrior queen, one who would fit perfectly with the handsome warrior that was Rezkin. If Rezkin served as Yserria’s guardian, he would be able to spend time with her – private time. He would also be able to reject any potential suitors and keep her to himself, even if it was considered bad form.

Frisha pushed that line of thought aside. Rezkin would never do such a thing. But, he was apparently considering putting out a large sum of money on the woman’s behalf. Surely he would want something in return, and she knew Rezkin certainly did not need a bodyguard. She was becoming upset that she did not know enough about her intended to understand why he had the authority to act as anyone’s guardian.

After several moments of thought, Rezkin caught the swordswoman’s green-eyed gaze and said, “You must understand, Mistress Yserria, that if you accept someone as your guardian, he will be so for the rest of your life until you are wed. He will have the authority to approve or reject any courtship or marriage contract. He would tell you where, when and with whom you may do anything. He may decide what positions of employment you may acquire, if any, and if certain activities are unbecoming of a lady.” This last he said with a glance toward the sword hilt at her hip, and Yserria’s face blanched paler than her normally alabaster skin.

The warrior continued, “You could, of course, reject your guardian’s authority and marry a commoner, but you would still be indebted to the guardian if he has spent any sum on money on your behalf. In addition, everyone within the upper classes, merchant and noble Houses, alike, would still recognize your guardian’s authority and would not consider you for marriage or employment except through him. Also, if you are a worshiper of the Maker, as I know most Leréshis to be, the priests recognize the authority of the guardian, as well. You would essentially be giving up your freedom in hopes that the man you accepted as your guardian had your best interests in mind.”

“Your guardian could even reject Palis,” Brandt said with a teasing grin. Palis’s face paled, and his eyes darted to his friend, Rezkin, with trepidation. Rezkin thought the unasked question ridiculous, so he ignored it.

Yserria scowled and said, “The entire notion is absurd. You expect me to give up my freedom to some strange man so that I could potentially marry another man I just met?”

Kai was obviously unhappy that Rezkin had undermined his machinations with his honest disclosure. “You would be essentially adopting yourself out, and the guardian would act as your surrogate father. If he accepted, he would even be required to provide for you. It is no different.”

“Except that I am a grown woman, and my father is dead. I do not know any other men well enough to believe they have my best interest in mind,” Yserria protested.

“Rezkin is an honorable man. He is also compassionate and caring, and if any man could serve as your guardian, it would be he,” Frisha said, not believing what just came out of her mouth. It was her natural instinct to defend him, but she had not meant to encourage the proposed relationship.

“I am sorry. What exactly is your relationship with Lord Rezkin?” Yserria ventured. She had caught on to several remarks and undertones that something was going on between the two.

“Rezkin is attempting to gain my guardian’s approval for a Prime Courtship,” Frisha stated with pride.

“Prime Courtship?” the young woman inquired with confusion. Frisha briefly explained the strange notion to the other woman who only ended up even more overwhelmed at the completely foreign concept that surrounded the relationships of the nobility.

“You said he is attempting this?” Yserria asked with suspicion.

Frisha’s cheeks flushed as she replied, “My uncle rejected his proposal.”

The woman’s eyes widened as she exclaimed, “Your own guardian believes him to be unsuitable for you, but I am supposed to give myself to him?”

“What? NO!” Palis protested.

Yserria flushed and waived her hand in the air saying, “For guardianship, I mean.”

“He is not unsuitable!” Frisha yelled as she slammed her hand on the table.

“Of course, none of this matters if you are not a maiden,” Brandt interjected with a vicious grin.

Malcius groaned and buried his head as Palis threatened to beat Brandt senseless. Yserria turned nearly as red as her hair as she sputtered, “Not that it should matter, but it is not a concern. I have never been close enough to a man to be intimate.”

Palis looked back at her wide-eyed and asked, “What do you mean, it should not matter?”

Yserria frowned. “I find it hard to believe that any of you have not enjoyed a woman’s company by now,” she directed at the men. “It should not be any different for women. Besides, in Lon Lerésh women are free to pursue any physical relationship they please without the consent of any guardian or promise of marriage. A woman’s state of maidenhood has no bearing on her value there. If anything, women are encouraged to learn as much of the arts of pleasure as possible. They understand that such things are a form of power over men.”

Now flustered, Tieran said, “Again, you are not in Lon Lerésh. Palis, are you certain this is the woman you wish to pursue?”

Rezkin thought the concept interesting. He had learned of the customs of Lon Lerésh but did not truly appreciate them before he came to know outworlders. Real social interactions were new to him, everything prior to leaving the fort having been simulations and academic exercises. He knew that many considered intimacy to be a type of Skill, the Leréshi, in particular; but his masters had always discouraged the practice. They claimed it was too much of a risk to find oneself in such a vulnerable position, especially with someone with similar sentiments to those of Lon Lerésh. In addition, they had always warned him against developing personal feelings for those with whom one found intimacy. The masters’ lesson against intimacy had been brutal.

Tieran, Malcius and Palis were arguing amongst themselves when Yserria finally spoke again. “What does this guardian gain from the deal?”

It was Brandt who answered, as the other three were too flustered to formulate a coherent response. “It is in the guardian’s best interest to procure a profitable deal with the greatest House possible. While he may spend money supporting you and paying for your dowry, he seeks to gain even greater profit through business deals associated with the marriage contract, in addition to gaining favor with the bridegroom’s House. Most guardians in this situation will attempt to make deals quickly so as to limit their expenses. They will only allow for more time if they are certain to gain a greater deal.”

“He’s like a marriage broker?” Tam asked, finally understanding the motivations. He remembered the concept from his lessons with Frisha’s father.

“You make it sound like women are property,” Yserria remarked.

Brandt shrugged and unapologetically said, “To him, you are.”

“How is that in my best interest?” Yserria argued.

“He will attempt to join you with the greatest House and for the most money possible. If he is very good, your social standing could dramatically increase. Of course, any noble House would be an improvement for a commoner,” Brandt explained.

“So when you say he will have my best interests in mind, you are only speaking in terms of finances and social status. What of love? What about happiness? What about ensuring that I even like the man?” Yserria questioned.

Brandt shrugged and said, “Unimportant.”

Rezkin abruptly stood and said, “Mistress Yserria, would you please join me at my inn to discuss matters in private. I will ask Tieran, Kai, and Tam to join us, and we will meet Journeyman Wesson there. Although it may appear unseemly for a woman to be alone in the company of so many men, I am afraid I must insist that no one else join us.”

“What about me?” Palis exclaimed.

“I apologize, Palis, but you cannot be present for this discussion. Palis’s facial features screwed up in confusion, suspicion, anger, disappointment, and acceptance all in a matter of seconds. A similar scenario played across Frisha’s features, as well. Rezkin forced his face into a smile and winked at the young woman as he had seen men do on occasion. Frisha’s face flushed, and she smiled demurely, so he decided he must have performed the action correctly.

Yserria glanced around at the others, but no one seemed concerned. Palis nodded his reassurance, and Frisha appeared to be mildly pouting. Yserria did not like the idea of being in a room at an inn with a group of strange men. Rezkin was handsome, charismatic, well spoken, and relatively quiet, but something about him set her on edge. She had a similar feeling around the man named Kai, but he was quite easy to read with his gruff, forthright nature. He was warrior through and through, and would probably be just as comfortable sitting around in blood and gore soaked armor in the middle of the common room. Rezkin, however, was like an exquisitely sculpted angel guardian, but just beneath the surface lurked a darkness, a demon biding its time. He was a killer, she was sure of it. Her father had always told her to listen to her instincts, and her instincts were screaming at her loud and clear with regard to the young man.

Still, she really did like Palis. His declaration that he would give up his title and wealth for her had nearly stolen her heart then and there. As much as she protested the ridiculousness of the courting ritual, she could not force herself to walk away. She wanted to at least know all of her options before completely discounting the opportunity, and it was an opportunity. If Palis’s father did approve the union, she would definitely be stepping up in the world. As far as she could tell, though, the potential for things to go wrong was immense.

Once back at the inn, Rezkin wrangled Wesson into providing the sound barriers while he allowed the others to make their case about why Rezkin was the rightful king. He would not even consider acting as the woman’s guardian without informing her of the kind of danger that came with knowing him. It took some time, but the mage and Tieran were able to convince Yserria that they spoke truth. The sight of the Sheyalins may have had some affect on her acceptance.

“So, you are this True King from the rumors?” she asked skeptically. “Earlier this evening I heard a rumor that Dark Tidings was the True King.”

“Where did you hear that?” Kai asked curiously.

“Over in the lower merchant quarter,” the swordswoman replied.

Kai stroked his beard and nodded approvingly. “It made it all the way there in less than an hour. I am impressed.”

“What do you mean?” Yserria asked.

“Well, the rumor had to start somewhere,” the man said as he spread his hands.

“You are spreading the rumors yourselves?” she asked in surprise.

“Of course. We need the people to know the truth, even if we are not quite ready to expose ourselves. Dark times are upon us. People will need hope, and we will need support,” the striker remarked.

“What of this Dark Tidings? Is he in on it, too, or are you just using him as a scapegoat in case things go badly?” the woman inquired.

Rezkin reached under his bed and drew out a sword blacker than night with fractured lines deep inside that glinted green in the lamplight.

Yserria’s jaw dropped at the sight. “You? You are Dark Tidings?”

Chapter 25

“Why? Why would you tell me this? You know I could turn you all in,” Yserria said, her voice wavering. She knew now, beyond a doubt, that she could not win any fight against these men – not with Dark Tidings.

“You cannot turn us in because even knowing what you know would mean a death sentence for you,” Rezkin remarked. “You seem well-versed in the politics of Lon Lerésh, so you should understand this. You have been chosen by our side, and our opponents will not suffer your existence, whether you agree with us or not. You will forever been seen as compromised. In addition, they will do anything to keep others from learning the truth, including silencing you. As for me, I do not condone the killing of innocent people; but this is war, and now that you know the truth, you must choose a side.”

It was just her luck. She had agreed to have lunch with a sweet, young noble, and now she was in the middle of a war she previously did not know existed. They were allowing her the chance to choose, but she did not think they would allow her to leave the room alive if she chose to side against them. There was only one matter that truly concerned her, though.

“What of Duke Ytrevius? What are your intentions toward him?” she asked, not truly expecting an honest answer.

“He will die horribly for his crimes,” Rezkin said without remorse.

Yserria’s eyes widened, and her lips pursed. “Then I choose to serve the True King.”

“What? That is it?” Tieran scoffed. “You want one man dead, and for that you are willing to turn over your allegiance?”

“It is what you wanted, is it not?” the woman argued.

“Yes, but allegiance given so easily is hardly an allegiance to trust,” the noble rebuked.

“It is not so easily given,” the woman snapped. “I have listened to your case and believe you speak truth. Do you think my commoner mind is too simple to understand that Ashai is in trouble? We all know it, and everybody wants to know why the king doesn’t do something to fix it. I, like most people, did not realize it was the king causing the problems.”

“And Ytrevius?” Tieran asked.

“I am certain he killed my father – or had him killed,” the young woman said. “My father was employed as a guard at Ytrevius’s estate. He came home one night very upset. He said he had discovered something terrible and that we needed to leave the island. He left to make arrangements and never returned. His body was found the next day in a gulley off the road. Everyone said he’d been drunk and stumbled into the ditch, but I know it for a lie. My father never drank more than an ale with dinner.”

“I believe we know the secret for which your father died, and it is something with which you can help us,” Rezkin stated.

The group spent the next short while explaining what they discovered at the duke’s estate. Yserria was furious and vowed to do anything in her power to take the man down. Having decided to throw in her lot with these strange people, she swore fealty to the True King then and there. Rezkin accepted her oath and offered to serve as her guardian in return. Even though she had already sworn fealty to the man, somehow accepting his guardianship was more difficult. She still hated the idea that any man would have such power over her life, but her fealty pretty much already ensured that.

Because it was so late by the time the comrades were finished discussing plans, Rezkin asked that Frisha and Reaylin share their room with the woman. Reaylin had finally reappeared just before the inn locked their doors and was ecstatic to meet the famous swordswoman. Frisha was less enthusiastic about the arrangement, but she begrudgingly admitted it had more to do with her growing irritation and anxiety over being excluded from Rezkin’s secrets. It seemed that his whole life was secrets, and she was not a part of it.

The following morning, Dark Tidings appeared at the arena just before the Melee rounds began. Rezkin’s companions found optimal seating near the center of the field. It was strange for Yserria to see Dark Tidings again, knowing now the face behind the mask. She had expected that if the wraith ever revealed himself, the mysticism and innate fear he invoked would dissipate once she could see that he truly was just a man. Knowing that Dark Tidings was Rezkin somehow seemed even more foreboding. Rezkin was no mere man.

Dark Tidings carried his usual cadre of weapons. His black blade was strapped to his back. The strange weapons that they had learned were called su’carai were at his hips, although he had yet to use them. The dark warrior carried the naginata at his side in a strong grip. Everyone knew several daggers were hidden about his person because he had drawn the smaller weapons on occasion.

Fourteen combatants fought in the first round of the day. Rezkin’s first opponent was the ax-wielding mountain man known as Chieftain Gurell Yuold. Everyone was curious about the rugged giant on this day, because he had not one, but two great axes strapped to his back. Not only was it ridiculous, it was impossible for any man to wield two great axes. They were, without a doubt, a two handed weapon that most men could barely lift, much less hope to wield in battle. When the mountain man faced off with Dark Tidings, though, his intentions were made clear. He unstrapped one weapon and tossed it several paces short of the dark warrior.

“Let us be seeing if the Great Dark Tidings can be matching the fierceness of a true mountain warrior,” the chieftain challenged, his voice resonating through the stands by mage power.

Dark Tidings cocked his head in that disturbingly inhuman way. Frisha’s breath caught, and, for a moment, the motion seemed familiar, but the thought passed. Rezkin had probably picked up the odd behavior from his master.

The dark wraith tossed the naginata aside and strode forward to claim the great ax. Challenge accepted. The chieftain watched with a satisfied grin as the mysterious opponent bent to lift the heavy weapon. Dark Tidings hefted its massive bulk with ease and then strode back to his place swinging the length of wood and steel several times to get a feel for the weight and balance. He turned and bowed his head slightly toward his opponent. The mountain warrior hollered a celebratory roar that was echoed by the mountain men in the stands, and he banged a gauntleted fist against his breastplate. A moment later, he charged at the dark warrior, a brilliant battle cry bellowing from his throat.

Dark Tidings ducked the first swing and followed it up with one of his own. The chieftain twisted out of the way and brought his weapon around in a whoosh. It was a strange sort of dance with the combatants swinging with all their might and dodging out of the way. Occasionally, one of the combatants would choke up on the haft and take a partial swing, and at other times, attempt a jab at the sternum with the heavy weapon.

Relating the chieftain’s behavior with the knowledge of mountain man culture gained from his studies, Rezkin knew that anything less than a debilitating wound would not satisfy the wild ax warrior. He did not want to inflict so much damage that the healers could not repair the man, though. Rezkin rather liked the outspoken mountain chieftain.

Eventually, Dark Tidings feinted and then unexpectedly swung the blade low. The ax-warrior was unable to dodge in time, and the ax-head bit deeply into the warrior’s hamstring. As the leg buckled, the dark warrior swung the ax up and around bringing the monstrous weapon down toward the chieftain’s head. With the severely injured leg, the other warrior’s balance was off, and he could not get his own ax up in time to block the strike. With phenomenal strength, Dark Tidings adjusted the trajectory and lodged the ax in the man’s shoulder, smashing through muscle and bone. He pulled his blow as much as possible to prevent the heavy ax from cleaving the man in two. It was not his intention to kill the man.

The chieftain fell to the ground with the ax still lodged in his torso. Dark Tidings approached and stared down at the man, just to make sure he remained breathing until the healers could tend to him. After only a few breaths, the motion of the man’s chest stopped. Rezkin frowned beneath the mask. Perhaps he had killed the man after all. The wound was not immediately fatal, but perhaps the shock of it had been too much.

He knelt beside the man and pressed his fingers to the pulse at his throat. Rezkin glanced up to gauge the healers’ progress. It was the heavy middle aged woman, Healer Jespia, who had investigated Malcius’s poisoning, and a leaner young man whose gangly legs were getting tangled in his robe. Dark Tidings shook his head. They were taking too long.

Placing his hands on the downed warrior’s chest he pounded out a steady cadence in conjunction with his own heartbeat. A surge of battle energy flowed through him with every compression. After a few aggressive strikes in which the energy felt as though it jumped from Rezkin to the mountain warrior, the dead man suddenly gasped, inhaling a most long-awaited breath. He sputtered and coughed and sucked the air in greedily. Deep blue eyes rolled around to take in the terrifying visage of the dark wraith. It took a moment for the man to regain his senses and recognize the demon as his opponent. By the time the healers finally arrived, the chieftain was already falling into a pain filled delirium.

“What were you doing?” Healer Jespia heatedly questioned, her voice echoing across the arena. “Why were you beating on him after he was down?”

Dark Tidings cocked his head. The woman was forever accusing him, Rezkin thought. At least she was doing it in defense of her patients, though. He could respect her for that.

“His heart had stopped,” Dark Tidings answered in that most disturbing voice. A chill swept through the captivated audience.

“I see,” the woman said, only a trickle of the hostility bleeding away. “Well, it seems to be working now. Off with you.”

Dark Tidings bowed to the demanding healer and collected his naginata, sliding it into a loop on his back. He then hefted both axes and carried them to the edge of the stands nearest the mountain warriors. He held the heavy weapons out for the men to collect, but they only took one – the one Rezkin had used in the battle – leaving him with the chieftain’s ax. Dark Tidings rested the massive ax against his shoulder as he walked back to his place along the field perimeter.

Rezkin was not sure of the significance of his gift. If this was a typical custom, it was not one that had been covered in his studies. Perhaps they felt he had earned the ax in defeating its wielder. Perhaps they simply wanted him to return it to its owner. He would have to find out more about it when the ax-wielding chieftain returned from the healer’s tent.

The noise of the crowd was deafening. It was not cheers or applause but continuous chatter. Dark Tidings and True King were on every pair of lips, and now everyone was in a buzz over what had just occurred in the arena. Of course, the crowd had heard the exchange between the healer and the wraith, and everyone had an opinion to share. While most touted his mercy and honor, others accused him of being weak and incapable of dealing the death that was the foundation of his namesake.

Dark Tidings’ second opponent wielded two identical short swords. Rezkin did not have two swords on him, so he simply fought with the black blade. The man was talented, but not talented enough. Rezkin had heard that some of the competitors had received offers of payment if they could score even one hit on him. Of course, all of the combatants were already attempting to do so, but some of the betting men thought the offer of additional coin would make them try a little harder. The dual-blade wielder failed to collect the bribe.

The final matchup of the round was by far the most satisfying for Rezkin. It was against the mace-wielding Sandman who had murdered the young Stavemaster. The beast had already attempted to end the life of another competitor that morning. Dark Tidings did not even give the man a chance to put on a show. As soon as the announcer finished speaking, he drew the black blade, strode forward with purpose, and disarmed the man – literally. After losing both appendages, the brute fell to his knees in shock.

While the healers were running to treat the man before he bled out, Dark Tidings stood over the Sandman and said, “Bracken Freedon, of the Isle of Sand, you have been judged and found guilty. Bring I to thee King’s Dark Tidings.” The black blade came down in one fell swoop and took the man’s head clean from his body. Green lightning crackled within the black sword’s length, continuing to glow for more than a minute before the luminescence finally faded.

Rezkin surveyed the arena. What was boisterous and thunderous moments ago was now silent as a graveyard. The healers had stopped their advance and simply stood with mouths agape. Their shared stunned expression was reflected on nearly every face in the stands and among the competitors. Dark Tidings wiped his blade on the Sandman’s pant leg and then returned it to its scabbard. He strode toward the frozen healers. As he passed Healer Jespia, he paused and said, “His heart has stopped, as well.”

The thinner man choked out a cough. Whether in disgust, surprise or morbid humor, it was hard to say. The noise of the crowd began as a chattering and gradually grew to a roar as the body parts were gathered and carted from the field. Dark Tidings stood at the side of the arena awaiting the start of the next round. Rezkin knew the officials would not attempt to charge him with a crime. They had set a precedent when they failed to hold the Sandman accountable for the young Stavemaster’s death, and Dark Tidings had just called them out on their failure to uphold justice. Every person in attendance knew for certain that this bout had been nothing less than an execution.

After a short delay, the next round began with only eight competitors. The Eastern Mountains chieftain returned looking a bit wan after his healing. Dark Tidings made to return the man’s weapon, but the chieftain laughed boisterously as he hefted the ax Rezkin had wielded during their bout.

“You are being a worthy opponent, and you did best me in fair battle with a mountain blade. You did earn the right to claim my position as chieftain of my tribe until I am defeating you again,” the burly man rumbled.

Dark Tidings bowed his head as Rezkin did his best to channel his inner mountain man. “I am honored by the tribe,” the disturbing voice boomed over the stands, “but I do not seek to claim your title.”

The chieftain grinned broadly and said, “I did not be thinking you would, although you would be having your choice of women and the wealth of the tribe. I will be holding the title for you until you are claiming it or until another claims it from you. If you are ever getting tired of playing with lowlanders, you are having a place in the Eastern Mountains.” Dark Tidings bowed acknowledgement and strapped the ax to his back across the black blade. He was carrying far too many large weapons for efficient movement, but the ax was not just any weapon. It was a symbol of the seat of authority of the tribe. Presumably, he was expected to carry the ax until someone claimed it from him in traditional mountain man style.

Dark Tidings’ second opponent of the round was a petite man who claimed his home as Ferélle, but he had obviously immigrated from elsewhere. He looked nothing like the Ferélli with his short stature, lean muscles, tight cheekbones and upswept eyes. The man kept his hair in a long black-brown braid that reached past his waist, and he wore a beige, overly long linen tunic with a wrap about the waist and loose matching trousers. He carried two weapons Rezkin had not seen before, even in the man’s previous bouts. They were similar to a flail but in a design like a ball and chain. Each had a thick metal shaft about the length of the man’s forearm. At the end of each shaft was a foot-long length of chain connected to a half-foot, sickle-shaped blade. As the small man approached, he motioned toward the su’carai at Dark Tiding’s waist. Apparently, the man had decided to step up to Rezkin’s self-imposed match-your-weapons challenge.

Dark Tidings inclined his head and dropped the black blade, naginata and battleax at his feet. He reached up and unclasped his cloak, allowing it to fall from his shoulders. Su’carai were a demanding weapon, and he would need his full range of motion. The Ferélli whipped the chains around until his blades were spinning rapidly. Dark Tidings drew his own unusual weapons and began spinning them, as well. The two men circled as they assessed the natures of the weapons and potential combative techniques. At times, the weapons were out to the sides, at others crossing in front, but they were always maintaining momentum.

When the weapons met, the chained blades rebounded in dangerously unpredictable directions, and both men changed their tactics to those of avoidance. Within seconds, the combatants were spinning, jumping, and rolling like circus acrobats. They spun toward, away and around and flipped and rolled over and under in a deadly dance set to the whirring cadence of the spinning blades.

If Rezkin had been truly engaged in battle with the man, he would have abandoned the su’carai in favor of a different weapon, and he was certain his opponent felt the same. It was a poor match if either combatant hoped to escape the duel unscathed. The chained blades nearly clipped Dark Tidings several times, but he was just fast enough to avoid injury. This particular duel claimed nearly all of Rezkin’s attention.

After several long minutes, the Ferélli’s timing faltered, and a poorly timed flip ended with him on his back and a slice to his thigh. He rolled quickly out of the way and regained his footing as Dark Tidings attempted to take advantage of the slipup. The smaller man fell back into the rhythm, and this cycle continued for nearly a quarter of a mark before the Ferélli finally conceded. He had been gradually slowing with blood loss. His beige tunic and breeches were now shredded and stained red. The man nodded toward the dark warrior and then stumbled toward the healers’ tent.

The crowd had been fascinated by the acrobatic displays and use of unusual weapons, but it was obvious from the wave of grumbles that they were unsatisfied with the anticlimactic ending. Rezkin did not care for the match in the least. The weapons were poorly matched, the required combat style was excessively draining, and he felt that gradually slicing a man up was not an efficient method of defeating an opponent. He decided that if he ever encountered a man wielding such weapons on a battlefield, he would probably just put a crossbow bolt through him. Still, it was what the man requested, and Dark Tidings had not failed to meet the challenge.

From up in the stands where Rezkin’s companions watched, the display was nothing short of magical. “I didn’t know human beings could move like that,” Frisha commented.

“I have seen circus performers that were impressive, but always they performed in a controlled environment with choreographed moves. This was a battle with deadly consequences for failure,” Brandt commented.

“Perhaps that is why they excel,” Captain Jimson observed.

“The Ferélli is amazing, but Dark Tidings is simply inhuman,” Palis said excitedly.

The last few matches of the round were more of the same brutality. Rezkin was becoming restless to be done with this tournament business. He could tell that something was not right. Seven strikers now followed his every movement, two of whom were new to Rezkin, and he did not know if they were part of Caydean’s select. He found it ever more taxing to slip their notice when he left the arena to relieve himself and get some much-needed sustenance.

Rezkin was returning across a rooftop from one such respite when something gave him pause. Several rooftops over, a striker stood surveying the streets below with a small hooded figure beside him. More importantly, though, Rezkin recognized this striker. The young warrior made his way over to the rooftop, slipping through the shadows of canopies, clotheslines, and cisterns. He stopped about fifteen paces from the pair and waited. After a few moments in which neither noticed his approach, Dark Tidings spoke. “Farson.”

The hooded figure released a feminine squeak as the striker whipped around baring his blade. A throwing dagger sailed past Rezkin’s head as he swiftly sidestepped. The small blade was quickly followed by two balls of fire, which splashed against the warrior harmlessly. The striker froze upon seeing the mysterious wraith that was Dark Tidings standing directly behind him, having had no hint of the man’s approach.

“Do I know you?” Farson asked suspiciously. Rezkin reached up and removed the inhuman black mask. The small mage beside him sucked in a breath as her eyes widened in recognition.

Farson seemed to relax and tense at the same time. This was at least an opponent the striker recognized, even while the man knew he could not survive he encounter. “When Nanessy described the Dark Tidings, I thought it might be you,” the striker remarked. “It is a little obvious, is it not? I would never have expected you to make such a public spectacle of yourself. You would only do so if you were on assignment. What does he have you doing? Will you kill more of us?”

“Who?” Rezkin asked. “Who gave the orders? Who do you believe I serve?”

“Do not play games with me, Rez. Remember, I know who you are. Aside from him, I may be the only one left who does,” Farson spat.

“I do not know of whom you speak. I came to Skutton looking for you,” Rezkin replied. “I have questions.”

“How did you know I would be here?” the striker asked in astonishment. “Never did I give an indication that I had intents on Skutton.”

“No, I did not know you would be here, but I knew the strikers would. I told you I have questions,” Rezkin replied.

“Questions I am not inclined to answer. The longer we stand here, the more chance you have to kill me,” the striker retorted.

“You would already be dead if that was my intent. I may yet let you live,” the dark warrior replied. “That is dependent on the answers to the questions.”

“Again, you toy with me,” Farson grated. “Never would you defy an order. I helped train you. You may be the most deadly creature ever spawned of humanity, but you are only a puppet. Never were you a Shadow Knight. A knight has honor. He lives by a code. No, you were only ever a shadow – a shadow of the man who pulls your strings.”

Rezkin’s icy blue eyes met the striker’s fiery glare. “I have no strings, and I serve no master. Never shall I serve another. I seek to know my place, to understand my existence, and to satisfy my purpose to protect and honor my friends.”

The striker barked a boisterous, humorless laugh and said, “You? You have no friends. You do not even know the meaning of the word. You think that since you left the fortress you are free, but you will ever serve your master. You exist to follow the Rules.”

“I told you I have no master. The masters are dead,” Rezkin replied.

Farson’s blood froze. “You killed them?”

“I had no need or desire to kill the masters. They killed each other during the battle,” Rezkin replied.

The striker’s eyes widened. “Then you never received your orders? You never learned the final rules or of your intended position? You never swore the oaths?”

“Peider told me the final Rules on his dying breath. I know my purpose,” the warrior replied.

“Then, how can you say you have no master?” the striker asked with genuine confusion.

“They said nothing of any master,” Rezkin replied with growing concern. This whole conversation made no sense. Farson’s accusations did not match up with Rezkin’s orders.

Farson narrowed his eyes and asked, “What exactly did Peider tell you?”

Rezkin cocked his head curiously. “Rule 2 – Kill with conscience and Rule 1 – Protect and honor your friends.”

The striker’s eyes widened, and his lips turned up at the irony. He laughed with genuine mirth and said, “That was your final directive? That is what has been driving you?”

With uncertainty, Rezkin asked, “Is it not the truth?”

Farson shook his head and replied, “Those were not the final Rules, Rez, but would you believe me if I told you differently? That was what your Master said, and that is what you will believe.”

Rezkin looked thoughtful for a moment and then replied, “Perhaps, but I believe it to be a noble cause. It is a cause worthy of my dedication, and I would pursue it even if Peider returned from the Afterlife and told me differently.”

The striker’s face fell blank and serious as he looked at the man before him with new perspective. “Then it is true? The darkness has been set free?”

The young warrior cocked his head and said, “That is what Adona said when he died. What does it mean?”

The bitterness returned to Farson’s face at the mention of his deceased comrade. “Who can ever tell with you? You were trained too well. Any claim you make is wrought with deceit and cunning. You would have me let down my guard and then stab me in the back. You can tell your master that I will not be deceived so easily. I will find a way to repay his betrayal.”

Frustrated with his inability to convince Farson of his independence, Rezkin replied, “I know not your allegiance, Farson, but mine is to my friends and Ashai, and I will destroy anyone who threatens either. You have heard the rumors. An evil tyrant sits upon the throne – a usurper. I intend to remove him.”

“You would move against the king? Surely your training went amiss or your mind has finally broken. It is not surprising considering all you endured. You were never meant to seek such power. You were meant to serve,” the striker asserted.

“Then you, too, are ignorant of the truth,” Rezkin replied. “I care not for power, and neither do I desire the throne. I am the only one with a rightful claim against Caydean, though. King Bordran bestowed upon me the authority and autonomy to do so, and I intend to honor his choice. I do this only because if Caydean remains on the throne, this kingdom will fall.”

“What power did Bordran bestow?” the striker asked skeptically.

Rezkin reached into a pouch at his side and withdrew the silver tube that contained his Certificate of Authority. He tossed the tube to the striker, but the man did not move to catch it. Instead, he allowed the tube to fall to the ground with a clink. Rezkin retreated several steps and held his hands behind his back in a gesture that meant he did not intend to attack.

The striker noted Rezkin’s stance but remained cautious. Keeping his eyes on the young warrior, he squatted and, glancing back and forth, examined the tube where it lay on the ground. He retrieved a handkerchief from his pocket and carefully picked up the vile while maintaining a significant amount of attention on his enemy. He used one end of the handkerchief to open the tube and pull out the document within. The striker carefully avoided touching the document or the tube as he unrolled the parchment and read its contents.

Farson’s pent-up breath left in a whoosh. He was so engrossed in his astonishment and multiple perusals of the document that he neglected to keep Rezkin in his sights. A change in the air and a chirrup from the woman beside him had him glancing up only to meet cold blue eyes less than two feet before him. They were the same blue eyes that had peered back at him every day for fifteen years. The boy had been incapable of feelings and affection, but Farson had not so easily distanced himself. At times, he had deluded himself into thinking of the boy as the son he would never have. Many of the strikers at the fortress had admitted such sentiments. Farson would never have subjected his own son to the torture and torment suffered by Rezkin, though. In this moment, however, the only sentiment Farson felt in Rezkin’s presence was unbridled fear and a slowly dawning acceptance that he was about to die.

Rezkin held Farson’s gaze firmly as he plucked the parchment from the striker’s hands and placed it back into the tube. “I have answered your questions, Farson, but you have answered none of mine. Experience tells me that you will not unless you have a desire to do so, and torture would yield little. I know not who issued the orders to kill the strikers, and I know not whom you serve, but I have revealed my hand.”

The young warrior slowly stepped back saying, “I have reason to believe that not all of the strikers will choose to serve Caydean should they be given a choice. Those who would see Caydean fall would deem this document to be Bordran’s declaration of his rightful heir. By recognizing me as the rightful king, the strikers may uphold their oaths and preserve their honor while denying Caydean. I am led to believe it is an opportunity many would relish.”

Continuing, Rezkin said, “I will not kill you, now, Farson. I still have too many questions, and I am not certain your death is necessary or in my best interest. Your continued existence may serve as proof that I am my own master. If you should side against me, though, I will end you like the others,” Rezkin declared with his usual stoic detachment.

Rezkin’s eyes found those of the startled young woman beside the striker. “Mage Threll,” he said bowing slightly, “I trust I do not have to tell you to keep this between us?”

Nanessy shook her head vigorously and said, “N-no, of course not, Lord Rezkin.” Rezkin nodded once to the woman and then to the striker. He replaced his mask and then disappeared over the side of the roof.

Chapter 26

Upon returning for the afternoon session, Rezkin noted the stands were near to bursting with spectators. This was to be expected for the finale, but it was the nature of the onlookers that concerned Rezkin. The stands were packed with soldiers. Most of them were in full or partial uniform, a number of which had been hastily covered with loose tunics. This only raised his suspicions further. Usually, soldiers tended to stick together in groups. Not so with these. They were dispersed throughout the crowd with greater numbers lining the rows closest to the arena and the porticos. It looked like a poorly concealed enemy infiltration – if Ashaiian soldiers were the enemy.

In the end, Dark Tidings defeated every opponent and won the first ever Melee competition of the King’s Tournament. The Eastern Mountains ax wielder’s stamina had been significantly reduced after his bout with Rezkin and the subsequent healing, and he had to be satisfied with third place. Rezkin would get no respite, though, for he still had to fight five more duels in the Fifth Tier competition. In the finals rounds, Dark Tidings faced Holton, the farmer from Skutton who he had sponsored for the competition. Rezkin was gratified to see the man finish in third place.

Just as Dark Tidings begin the final match with the Ashaiian Marquis of Quenth, Rezkin realized what that nagging in his outer consciousness had been trying to tell him for the last hour. He was disappointed in himself for not realizing it earlier but refused to blame his failure on fatigue or his encounter with the long-sought Farson or the minor distraction of the tournament. Duke Ytrevius’s men had been gradually retreating from the arena. The duke must have gotten wind that something was to happen, and it was likely Ytrevius was not involved. Strangely, that did not bode well for the people of Skutton.

Rezkin’s eyes surreptitiously surveyed the stands where his friends awaited the outcome of the tournament. He would have preferred they be nowhere near the arena, but he knew they would not have missed the finale, not to mention anyone keeping track may have considered it suspicious if they did not attend. He knew that several spies for both Ytrevius and Caydean had been keeping an eye on Tieran, in particular.

All of Rezkin’s traveling companions were gathered together in the stands as he had directed, including Yserria and Reaylin who Kai had managed to track down the previous night. The companions’ retainers and belongings were supposed to already have been loaded into the ship awaiting their escape, and at this point, Rezkin was certain escape would be the appropriate term.

The marquis thrust, and Dark Tidings parried. The two danced about with quick over the shoulder strikes and wider arching ones. The marquis was a formidable opponent, every bit as good as one of the strikers, if dueling had been the only requisite to become a striker. When Rezkin stuck the other Swordmaster through the shoulder, the crowd cringed. When the marquis shifted his grip to the other hand, the audience cheered. Rezkin realized the marquis, who had nearly won the last King’s Tournament and had won several other tournaments since, had somehow become the underdog. By now, everyone expected Dark Tidings to win, and he did.

As the crowd burst into roaring applause and the official announced the tournament’s official champion, the uniformed strikers began their advance. One came from each of the four porticos, and three more dropped over the wall from the stands. They moved toward him steadily until Dark Tidings was surrounded.

In the stands, Tieran remarked, “This does not look good.”

“What is it? Dark Tidings has won the tournament. What are they doing? They should be congratulating him,” Frisha said with concern, although she knew the suggestion ridiculous.

At that moment, all seven strikers drew their swords. They were definitely not congratulating the tournament champion. The now silent audience held its collective breath. One of the strikers spoke, his voice resonating through the stands, “Dark Tidings, popular rumor has it that you profess a claim to the throne. You are under arrest for treason against the crown. Come now and you may live to see the gallows.”

“You convict a man based on rumor, now?” Dark Tidings asked as he turned slow circles, keeping an eye on his opponents. It was reminiscent of the battle at the fortress, only with half the number of opponents.

“Do you deny the charges?” the striker questioned.

“I do. I am not guilty of treason. King Bordran exercised his right to declare his own heir. He chose me. I am the rightful King of Ashai, and a usurper sits upon the throne – a mad tyrant who will destroy this kingdom. Let all who are present know that they do not owe their fealty to Caydean.”

The striker sneered and said, “We do not care for your lies. You hold no proof of your claim.”

Dark Tidings cocked his head to the side and said, “I have in my possession proof that I am the True King, not that you will care to see it, I think. Know this, Striker. You swore an oath to serve the King of Ashai. The strikers do not owe that sadist, Caydean, allegiance. Serve your True King and uphold honor and justice!”

Several of the strikers glanced to their comrades, but the speaker shook his head. Another spoke up saying, “Show us this proof.”

“Mind your tongue, Shezar. We need no proof of his lies. King Caydean has ordered his death and so shall it be,” the speaker stated.

“You do not speak for all of us, Klent. We should see his proof. If he is whom he says, then he must go before the Council. And, since when does the king order a man’s death without proof or trial?” Striker Shezar argued.

“You defy your king, Shezar?” Striker Klent accused.

“If this man is whom he claims, then I cannot bare my blade against him,” the striker replied as he sheathed his blade and stepped back. To Dark Tidings he said, “I am sorry, but without proof I cannot stand in your defense, and it does not appear that my brothers are willing to give us the time.” With a growl he said, “But neither will I stand against you so long as your proof is in question.” Another striker on Dark Tidings’ other side sheathed his blade and stepped back as well. The other five continued to advance.

Frisha gripped Tam’s arm and exclaimed, “They are going to kill him!”

Tam was nervous as well, but he knew Rezkin had overcome much greater odds. Still, his friend and liege had been fighting all day, and surely he was tired. He sought to comfort Frisha anyway, “I do not think we have too much cause to worry. He is greater than you know.”

“But there are five strikers! They are the elite! He cannot beat five of them!” the young woman protested.

“I concur,” Malcius said.

“Someone should do something. We should help him,” Palis bit out.

Malcius cupped his brother upside the head and said, “Quiet! People will hear you, and we will meet the same fate.”

Brandt made to stand, but Tieran gripped his arm saying, “Rezkin told us to stay together. He knew something was going to happen. I am sure Dark Tidings is prepared to handle it. Let us see what happens.”

“By then he will be dead,” Brandt refuted.

“Just wait. What do you think you could do against seven strikers, anyway?” Tieran asked.

“Only five. The other two stood aside,” Brandt said with less enthusiasm.

“Only five,” Tieran seethed. “You could not help with one, much less five, and do not think the other two would stand back and let you attack their brethren.”

“It would not just be me. Maybe if one person goes to help, others will follow,” the Gerrand argued.

“Or you will be the only one, and you will die,” Tieran retorted.

The argument was cut short with the sudden clash of blades. The green lighting flashed brightly in the darkening arena. As the sun dipped below the horizon, torches had been lit, which flickered in the cool sea breeze. The strikers dipped in one after another in well-practiced group maneuvers. At times, two or three attacked at once. This was not the sudden, chaotic battle of the fortress. This was well practiced and choreographed for success.

Dark Tidings shifted to keep at least one of his opponents between him and the others as often as possible. When several closed in at once, he smashed one in the face with his hilt, and slipped a dagger into the man’s gut. While the injured striker was doubled over, Dark Tidings leapt onto the man’s back and launched himself over the heads of the others. He landed behind the line of strikers and was finally clear. They came at him quickly, and the fighting was brutal.

This was nothing like the dueling tiers, and the wraith fought much dirtier than he had during the Melee. This was true battle for life and death – one man against five masters. A flying dagger took one striker in the eye. Ranged weapons were not permitted during the Melee, and the strikers had probably not considered that he might be carrying them. He exchanged several blows with the striker who had spoken for the group. The man was aggressive and determined. He was also allowing his anger and hatred to overcome his senses. This man had obviously forgotten what it meant to follow the Rules.

A second opponent came at Rezkin from the side. He quickly shifted his longsword to a one-handed grip and drew a dagger, blocking the second swordsman’s strike. The wraith brought the black blade around, smashing the second opponent’s blade aside as he spun and kicked out at the speaker. He shoved the man into another striker who had been approaching from behind. Dropping his sword back down to block another attempt by the second opponent, he then stabbed his dagger into the man’s jugular. Without hesitation, Rezkin dragged the black blade back around and sliced into the speaker’s abdomen on the back sweep. As he fell to the side, the dagger found its way into the final striker’s shoulder and was quickly followed by the black blade through the heart. Dark Tidings kicked the man off his blades and turned to find the speaker once again. The prostrate man had palmed a throwing knife, but was too slow to release the small blade while he was attempting to hold his guts in his body.

Dark Tidings stomped on the man’s hand, crushing the bones and rendering the blade useless. He leaned over the striker and said, “Five was not enough.” The black blade glimmered as it was thrust into the man’s chest. The wraith pulled his blade free and looked back to the two strikers who had opted not to engage in the battle. Both were standing and staring in shock. Turning toward Striker Shezar, he said, “Seven would not have been enough, either.” The black blade hung in a firm grip at his side, a steady green glow lit within, interrupted only by tiny rivulets of crimson dripping down its sides.

“You killed them,” Shezar observed in astonishment. The crowd was riveted, not a whisper to be heard.

“I did,” Dark Tidings stated unapologetically.

The striker swallowed and said, “I would see your proof.”

“And if you are unsatisfied with my proof?” the black wraith asked.

With a hesitant smile, the striker said, “Then I shall retreat for reinforcements.”

“Then it seems you have not all forgotten the Rules,” Dark Tidings mused. The striker lifted a brow and tensed as the mysterious warrior reached inside his armor and withdrew a small metal tube, which he tossed at the striker’s feet. The second striker maintained his position but kept a close eye on Dark Tidings’ every movement. Shezar retrieved the tube with considerably less caution than had Striker Farson; but Shezar did not know of Rezkin’s training, so perhaps his carelessness could be excused. The excuse would do him little good if the tube was trapped or poisoned, though.

The striker silently read the contents and glanced up at the dark wraith before him. It was unavoidable that those who required proof would know his identity. All he could do was hope that they joined him or he would have to kill them, especially potentially dangerous enemies like the strikers. Eventually, his secret would be revealed, but he was not yet ready for that to happen.

Looking up, Shezar said, “You have them?” Of course the striker was referring to the Sheyalin blades.

Dark Tidings tilted his head to the side and said, “They are near. There is more, but we shall not discuss it here.”

The striker nodded in understanding, glanced at his comrade and then drew his sword. The other striker drew his sword in response but was surprised when Shezar dropped to his knees. The striker recited his oath of fealty, but knowing Rezkin desired anonymity and that everyone in the stands could hear the exchange, he excluded Rezkin’s name, instead saying “the warrior known as Dark Tidings and the True King.” The second striker, a man by the name of Roark Genring, recognized the significance of his brother-in-arms’ actions, and dropped to his knees as well. The audience burst into an uproar. Some cheered, some shouted angry curses and offensive epithets, and some even came to blows.

Suddenly, a loud horn blasted over the arena. It was apparently the signal for which the army had been waiting, because in a flurry of movement, the soldiers in the stands drew their weapons and blocked off the exits. They began yelling and herding patrons toward the steps leading to the arena floor. Additional soldiers blocked off the exits from the field itself, but it was obvious they had not planned on being the only ones guarding against the gathered Swordmasters who had competed in the Fifth Tier. The soldiers’ faces were wrought with fright, and the younger ones were visibly shaking as their commanders barked orders. All of this happened in a matter of moments, and the spectators were screaming and shoving in all directions. The competitors still standing on the arena floor were confused and glancing around, looking for any clue as to what was happening.

“It has begun,” said Striker Shezar, his voice still being projected throughout the arena.

“What is happening?” Dark Tidings asked.

“All across the city the army is rounding up foreign intruders as spies and illegal immigrants,” the striker said with revulsion for the orders. “The important foreigners are to be held and ransomed back to their families and liege lords, and the others will be sold off as slaves. We must move quickly. The army was to gather the spectators in the arena so that they can weed out the foreigners. I cannot guarantee they will be careful in their judgments, and you are most certainly a target. The strikers were to help maintain the porticos against the more talented fighters. You have killed most of us here, but others will be coming, and even you cannot take on an entire army.” The last was said at a considerably lower volume as the power that enhanced the speakers’ voices abruptly ceased. Likely, the army did not want heard what the striker just revealed.

“We must gather as many others as we can and make our way to the duke’s estate,” Dark Tidings replied.

“We are with you,” sounded a deep voice with a Torreli accent. It was Brendam LuDou, Captain of the Royal Guard for King Desbian of Torrel, former tournament champion and the official who had tested Dark Tidings to certify him as a contestant in the Fifth Tier. Most of the other Fifth Tier combatants who remained on the field were gathered with him. So far, the soldiers had avoided entering the field where lay the corpses of five of the king’s elite strikers, so the contestants had a bit of time to organize. Everyone knew more soldiers would be coming, though, and then it would be too late to escape.

“Why not the docks? We must escape the island,” the striker announced.

“I have already prepared an escape,” the black wraith stated.

The striker’s brows rose, and he said, “We had no chance of taking you alive, did we?”

“Never,” said the wraith.

While the soldiers were trying to prevent it, a number of audience members were dropping over the arena wall in an attempt to escape the soldiers in the stands. Rezkin had warned his friends about the possibility of problems and told them if they needed an escape, they were to stay together and get to the field as soon as possible. The last of the group, Baron Fendendril, had just been assisted down the wall when a large hooded figure intercepted a soldier who was attempting to follow. The hooded figure dispatched the soldier and slipped over the wall. He approached Dark Tidings as the group arrived. Shoving his hood back, Kai bowed slightly and saluted with a fist across the heart.

“Kai!” Shezar exclaimed in astonishment.

Kai nodded once to his fellow striker and then turned back to Dark Tidings. “My king, the city is in chaos, and the army has swarmed the streets. They are taking as many prisoners as possible, but they do not hesitate to kill those who protest too much. Already many of the buildings are in flames, but our ship should be secure for the moment.”

The group of Eastern Mountains men came running up behind Rezkin’s friends, each wielding a massive battleax. “Your tribe is with you, Chieftain Dark Tidings,” announced Chieftain Gurell. We heard what the striker said. We will not be taken for slaves!”

Rezkin surveyed the faces of the gathering crowd. A great number of people, most of them foreigners, were flocking to his banner – so to speak. He did not actually have a banner, but he was certain Kai or one of his other devoted vassals would make sure he had one. Dark Tidings began issuing orders, which were relayed and carried out by the strikers and other experienced fighters around him. He arranged his people so that the fighters were stationed around the perimeter with the strongest fighters in the rear and lead, and the noncombatants were protected in the center. Many of these were women, and even a few children or small-men were amongst them.

Kai directed Rezkin to the portico where the fewest army soldiers had gathered before he entered the arena. Without the strikers to bolster their defense, many of the regular soldiers fled. When they noticed Striker Shezar at the forefront, a few even turned on their comrades to assist the group’s escape. Those who did not fall beneath the assorted blades wielded by the strikers, tournament competitors, and anyone else who happened to be carrying a weapon fled in terror of the group. Any of the escapees who did not have a weapon collected them from the fallen as they ran. More people joined the group as they made progress through the halls of the arena.

The escapees emerged from a side portico that had previously been reserved for official use only. Kai had been correct in his assertion that this area was less heavily guarded, and the lack of soldiers was for good reason. The portico opened into a narrow corridor less than twenty paces wide between the arena wall and a steep rubbly slope. The heaviest fighting was at the front where Rezkin, Striker Shezar, Chieftain Gurrell and a few other ax-wielders and Swordmasters were cutting through the unit of Ashaiian soldiers who were attempting a blockade. Kai held a group of accomplished fighters at the back, which included Striker Roark, and they held off any soldiers who attempted to follow them through the portico. As the number of corpses lying in their wake grew, fewer soldiers attempted to stop them.

The group made it past the arena grounds and flowed into a less populated side street. Not enough army units were available to occupy every artery in the city at once, and Kai and Shezar took to the rooftops to scout ahead. The group moved quickly but became slightly strung out as some of the noncombatants fell behind and fighters had to fight off a few random groups of overzealous and overconfident soldiers.

Dark Tidings called a halt to regroup when they reached a mid-sized square. Captain Jimson, who had thus far gone along with the group for the sole purpose of guarding his charges, grasped Frisha’s arm and pulled her close.

“Lady Frisha, we should stay here and take cover. From what the striker said, the army is gathering foreigners. You and the others will not be in danger if we simply return to the inn,” the captain stated with haste.

Frisha jerked her arm from Jimson’s grasp. “No, I am staying with…him,” she said as she motioned to the dark wraith that was issuing orders to those around him with ease. “I don’t know where Rezkin is, but he is sure to be wherever Dark Tiding is taking us. I won’t leave him. Besides, you heard Uncle Marcum, your General. He said to stay with Rezkin no matter what.”

Jimson had already made the connection, though. He had been present when Kai swore his allegiance to Rezkin, and now the man was deferring to Dark Tidings. He had already heard the rumor that Rezkin served the True King as his Voice, and now he understood the truth of it. Jimson had known Rezkin was a Swordmaster, but he would never have believed the man to be as impossibly skilled as the wraith who had won the Fifth Tier and Melee without so much as a scratch.

“Rezkin cannot help you now,” Jimson gritted through his teeth. “Dark Tidings is an enemy of the king. General Marcum, your uncle, ordered me to protect you, and I cannot do that if you are seen with a traitor.”

“Dark Tidings is the king!” Frisha exclaimed. “My loyalty is with Rezkin and the True King, Captain Jimson. Where is yours?”

“We must be going,” said a deep, disturbing voice from beside him.

Jimson turned and said, “This is madness. Drascon, Millins, the guards and I can escort the others back to the inn where they will be safe. The army is not after them.”

“No one is safe,” Dark Tidings replied. “We go to the ship,” he said as he started to turn away.

Jimson grabbed Dark Tidings’ forearm and said, “I know who you are. You cannot do this to them.”

“I am not doing this. Caydean is doing this.” Dark Tidings motioned around him at the frightened faces and said, “Do you support his actions, Captain? Do these innocent people, who were invited guests of the kingdom, deserve to be imprisoned and sold as slaves? Do they deserve to be killed if they resist? Will you carry out Caydean’s orders against them?”

Jimson stared at the black voids behind which he knew to be icy blue eyes but said nothing. Dark Tidings turned his disturbing gaze to Drascon and Millins and said, “None are forced to attend me. You may go now, if you wish, and protect any who desire to flee with you, but you will not prevent any from accompanying me. It is time to make your choice.”

Jimson looked around at the nobles he was ordered to escort and asked if any had a desire to remain in Skutton. They each lifted their heads in defiance and shook their heads. Even Baron Fendendril agreed to accompany Dark Tidings after seeing the stubborn set of his son’s jaw. Millins took one glance at a young Sandean woman with a swollen eye and cut lip and declared his loyalty to Dark Tidings. Drascon simply nodded and walked over to join the fighters still guarding the perimeter.

Jimson turned to his friend who was wrapped in a demonic disguise and said, “For what it is worth, my personal respects lie with you. It seems my charges agree, so I have no reason to turn back.”

A loud hoot sounded from the rooftop a few buildings over, and Dark Tidings looked up to see Shezar waving his hands around in a complex series of motions. “We must move quickly,” the wraith announced.

The group set off again toward the duke’s estate, taking seemingly random turns that were actually carefully orchestrated by the scouts to avoid as many patrols as possible. Even so, several skirmishes broke out, and the group lost a few of its number. At one intersection, they reached a blockade that had previously been occupied by several cross-bowmen. These cross-bowmen were now lying in pools of their own blood having been taken out by the scouting sentries.

Eventually, the group made it beyond the last of the city’s buildings and onto the open road leading to the estate. No soldiers or guards patrolled the road, now, and the group moved as quickly as possible. Several of the men had stowed their weapons in favor of carrying struggling children, and those men and women who were not used to such physical stress were stumbling and breathing heavily. No one suggested stopping for a rest. The consequences of failing to escape were too terrible to consider a respite. Rezkin felt the weight of responsibility on his shoulders. The group was full of his friends, comrades, vassals, and complete strangers, but they had all put their trust and faith in him.

The escapees came to a halt just inside the tree line that bordered the fifty-yard open space before the estate walls. It was fully dark now, and it was unlikely they would be seen amongst the vegetation. Rezkin gathered the strongest fighters and organized an offensive. He ordered the battle mage to construct a ward to shield them from arrows, and with little time to spare, the unit stormed the walls.

At first, the guards laughed at the small force that emerged from the dark, but once they realized they were being set upon by several strikers and the infamous Dark Tidings, they lost their humor. The strikers and the wraith began scaling the walls unaided and unhindered, and the soldiers could do little to stop them with the mage’s shield extended as it was. The ward was not a shield in the classic sense of the word, for the battle mage would have found it nearly impossible to maintain that kind of magic for long. Wesson had actually constructed a magical barrier that would incinerate anything that attempted to pass through it. Arrow shafts turned to ash while the heads melted into hot globules that hurt when they struck but did not puncture. The mage could only extend the shield so far, though, and he had to release it just before the elite forces reached the top of the wall or they, too, would be incinerated.

One soldier jabbed down on Dark Tidings with a spear. The dark warrior twisted out of the way and grabbed the weapon by the shaft. The inexperienced guard failed to recognize his predicament and kept a tight grip on the weapon. When the ascending warrior jerked the spear roughly, the man fell over the wall with a scream, followed by a thud. Just as Rezkin threw himself over the balustrade, two swordsmen took swipes at the warrior. Dark Tidings avoided one but took a slash to his armor when he reached out and grabbed the other. He jerked the man around and rammed him into the first sending both men tumbling over the wall.

The strikers had managed to reach the top and set about clearing the wall of Ytrevius’ guards. It was only minutes before Striker Roark was opening the gates for the rest of their assault force to enter. As the highly skilled fighters cleared the courtyard, the remainder of the group made their way across the field. Once inside the walls, they made straight for the manor house. Even Rezkin was surprised when a large tangle of massive roots suddenly burst through the flagstones and crashed through the thick wooden doors. Tieran wore a sheepish grin as Wesson patted the young aspiring life mage on the back.

Once the doors had been destroyed, many of the guards ran. Those who stood their ground died. Rezkin considered it a waste. If they had followed the Rules, they would have known this was a fight they could not win, and they would have run, too. The duke was a smart man, but he was far too reliant on his wards. Rezkin simply ran through them, and moments later they unraveled under Wesson’s destructive attentions.

Beyond the foyer was the Great Hall where the duke presided over disputes and held court with lesser nobles as though he was a king. The hall was most heavily warded, and once the invaders were beyond the doors, they encountered heavy resistance from the duke’s personal guard. Rezkin’s group lost a few more of its less skilled members and a woman they had been protecting, but the guards were no match for the highly talented tournament competitors and strikers.

A large fireball suddenly blasted through the hall toward the invaders. Wesson was able to raise a shield in time to protect the majority of the fighters, but those on the perimeter were slightly singed with minor burns. A shriek cut through the air when a woman screamed, “Battle mage!”

“Wesson! Quick, do something!” Frisha pleaded. A tall man with sharp features stood beside the throne upon the dais. He wore black robes with black and red panels indicating his affinity for nocent magic with emphasis in fire.

Still holding his shield, Wesson’s mind darted around in a panic. His companions knew he had battle magic, probably the most powerful in all of Ashai, but he had never desired to use it in such a way. He was untrained and only a journeyman. Even if he could bring himself to kill the man, he did not know if he was capable of defeating a fully trained battle mage. He swallowed hard and turned to face the imposing opponent. Just as he started to gather his power, a black figure stepped into his view.

“You protect the group. I will handle the mage,” Dark Tidings said.

“But he is a fully trained battle mage! He will destroy you,” Wesson protested, but his words fell on empty air.

The wraith had already turned and was running toward the offending mage. He slipped right through Wesson’s incineration ward without a second thought, and a moment later, the battle mage shot a powerful jet of fire toward the fast approaching warrior. Wesson struggled to form a shield, but the warrior was too far away and moving too quickly. The inferno washed over Dark Tidings like a raging flash flood of fire. The invading escapees cried out in horror, but when the flames abruptly cut off, a shadow emerged. The shadow descended on the battle mage before he could fully understand what was happening. One powerful strike, and the battle mage fell to the floor nearly cleaved in two. The black blade glowed a brilliant fiery green from within, and its wielder was left unscathed.

Kai and Shezar were already through the door beyond the throne, and the group within the Hall could hear shouts and the ring of steel on steel. No one had the chance to question what had just occurred because Dark Tidings was already through the door leading to the duke’s study.

It was an ostentatious room filled with marble busts and blues and gold – nothing like what one might think a torturous, murdering, enslaver would prefer. The duke’s guards were dead at the strikers’ feet and both men stood between the duke and the second set of doors. Behind the duke, cowering in the corner, were his two eldest daughters, Safrina and Geila. The duke threw up ward after ward, but Wesson simply pulled them apart.

Ytrevius gathered a small ball of blue flame in each hand as he shook and shouted, “Stop! I am the duke! I order you to leave this place at once!”

Dark Tidings strode forward enticing the duke to lob both of his flames at the frightening warrior. The flaming balls splashed against the wraith and fizzled to nothing.

The duke’s eyes widened in horror, and the color drained from his face. “YOU! You brought this upon us. It is you he wants!”

“No, Ytrevius. Everything you get was brought upon you by your own actions. The rest is all on Caydean. I know of your secret underworld. You have been judged and found guilty,” the dark wraith said as he stood only a few paces from the cowering duke. Ytrevius’s daughters were crying in fear, and Rezkin noticed there were actually three of them present. The third, fourteen-year-old Lady Meris, was partially hidden beneath the voluminous layers of the older girls’ skirts.

“Wait! Please! We can make a deal. Look! I have daughters. You can have one. Pick any one you want.”

The eldest, Safrina, gasped as the others squealed in fear, “Father, no!”

The blubbering duke continued his preposterous attempts to gain his freedom. “I have two others…young girls, if you prefer…or…or…take them all! I will give them to you freely if you spare me!” the wretched man begged.

Rezkin was beyond appalled. Fear filled cries echoed down the corridor a moment before Shezar escorted a middle-aged nursemaid, a couple of handmaidens, and two young girls of nine and eleven years.

Dark Tidings turned back to the duke and said, “It seems I already have all of your daughters, and I will be taking them. You, however, will die. Have you any last confessions?”

“Wait! No! No, no, no, no, no…” Ytrevius sobbed as he attempted to back away.

Dark Tidings pointed at his soldiers and flicked a couple of fingers in the girls’ direction. Jimson, Drascon and Millins hurried forward to collect the young ladies. To Kai, he said, “Gather those below and get everyone to the ship.”

When the last of the group passed through the doors, Dark Tidings leveled his black blade at the duke’s chest. “You and Hespion were plotting an assassination. Who was your target?”

“I…I know not of what you speak!” he protested.

“We do not have time to draw this out, Ytrevius. Caydean’s soldiers will be here soon. Perhaps I will leave you for them. I have heard Caydean enjoys the pain and torment of others.”

“Okay, okay, okay…I will tell you. We were plotting against the king. You see. We are like you. We want him gone just as much as you. We can make a deal,” the duke pleaded.

“You are nothing like me,” Dark Tidings replied. “Your journey in this world is finished.”

Ytrevius began begging again in earnest. “Please. You do not have to do this!”

“I am not going to,” Dark Tidings said as he turned slightly and held out one hand. The redheaded warrior’s eyes left Ytrevius in surprise. Her green gaze was filled with questions as it landed on Dark Tidings.

“You would give me this honor?” the young woman inquired, her voice choked with fear, excitement, and anguish.

“To take a life is never an honor,” Dark Tidings replied.

“It is a great honor to restore my family name – to avenge my father by killing his murderer,” Yserria refuted. “It is the way of my people.”

“You speak of Lon Lerésh, but I remind you that you are a citizen of Ashai,” the True King, her liege, replied. “I give you leave to execute this man for his crimes; but henceforth, when you take a life, you will not feel. Anger, pleasure, despair, and glory have no place in such an act, nor does remorse.”

“I disagree,” a young man’s voice said from the doorway. Having gotten the wraith’s attention, Palis continued. “Every loss of life is cause to mourn.”

“If that is the case, then I should forever be in mourning – for the remainder of my days,” Dark Tidings replied with a grunt. “Any life that requires taking is not deserving of remorse. If it is not so, then the life should not have been taken in the first place.”

“Then it is a matter of conscience?” the young man asked. Rezkin looked out from behind the mask at his friend. Perhaps Palis knew the secret of Rule 2 – Kill with conscience.

Yserria chose that moment to strike the bumbling duke’s head from his shoulders. Blood sprayed over her and across the floor as the body fell. The young woman had a wild look to her eyes, and a moment later she lost her stomach. Dark Tidings gave Yserria a moment to collect herself as he searched the duke for any missives or other useful information. Coming up empty handed, he said, “We must go. The army will arrive soon, if it has not already.”

The dark wraith ushered his two companions into the corridor where waited Brandt. Of course Palis would not have left Yserria, and Brandt would not have left Palis. Malcius would have seen to his duty of escorting Shiela and Frisha to safety, which is where Rezkin desired to be now. The warrior led the group to the entrance of the underground cavern. Palis tried to comfort Yserria, but she would have none of it. She was stubborn and willful and feeling a great deal of conflicting emotions about killing her father’s murderer.

When they reached the slave chambers, the living captives had already been moved, but emaciated and beaten bodies lay everywhere, all still in chains or cages. The smell alone was enough to make a person wretch, and Rezkin’s companions did so promptly.

“What madness is this?” Brandt was finally able to ask.

“The duke was a slave trader. When the trade dried up recently, he could no longer move his product. Rather than release or kill them, he simply left them down here to starve to death,” the warrior replied. Yserria’s conflicting emotions abruptly cleared. She took a deep breath in relief, which she immediately regretted. Noting the young woman’s change in demeanor, Dark Tidings added, “I told you, Mistress Rey. The duke was not deserving of remorse.”

“I most definitely concur,” Brandt remarked, and Palis nodded his agreement.

They all stopped to listen at the same moment. Rumbling footsteps and the clank of armor could be heard echoing down the corridor, and the soldiers were closing quickly. Rezkin and his companions crossed through the main cavern as swiftly as possible. Unfortunately, moving hastily in the poorly lit cavern amongst the plethora of stalagmites, low-hanging stalactites, columns and pools was nearly impossible. When they were less than half way across the main cavern, the first of the soldiers appeared. While the soldiers balked at the sights and smell, they could not stop as more of their comrades were flooding in behind them. The pursuing soldiers once again bottlenecked when they entered the final passage leading to the beach.

When the fleeing escapees reached the cove, they noted that their comrades had not quite finished loading the refugees and rescued slaves onto the ship. The cove was not deep enough at the shore to bring the ship closer, so they were forced to use three longboats to row people the short distance, and then the passengers had to either scale rope ladders or were hauled up in harnesses by the crew. One of the longboats was nearly unloaded while the other two were en route to the ship. It became apparent that the nearly empty longboat would not make it back to shore before the army soldiers reached the beach.

Dark Tidings turned to his companions and said, “Go! Start swimming. I will hold them off at the mouth of the cave.”

“But there are dozens, maybe hundreds of them! Even you cannot possibly fight them all!” Palis protested.

“I do not seek to defeat, only to delay,” Dark Tidings responded. “It will give the others time to get everyone aboard, and you will be able to swim to the ship. I would not undertake the task if I thought not to prevail. Now, go!” he said has he turned back to the cave entrance and the encroaching sound of boots on stone.

Stumbling in the dark, Palis, Brandt and Yserria ran across the loose shale toward the black water. Brandt and Palis dove in and swam quickly as the sea pulled at their clothing and weapons. Brandt was the stronger swimmer and was already ahead when Palis turned to check on Yserria. His heart skipped a beat when he realized she was not behind him. Yserria had stopped at the water’s edge and was looking back into the darkness at the moonlit shadow that was Dark Tidings. As the soldiers began pouring out of the cave, Dark Tidings cut them down one after another, the glint of green lightning intermittently lighting the darkness. Yserria turned and ran back up the beach to assist her liege. Palis panicked at the thought of Yserria involved in battle on the beach and turned back as well.

Dark Tidings was doing an admirable job of holding the soldiers back at the mouth of the cave, but a few managed to slip around the sides. Yserria was quickly surrounded by three of the soldiers and then a moment later by a fourth. Palis attacked the fourth, dispatching him quickly. The young noble did not have time to come to terms with killing the man before he was battling another.

Rezkin noticed that his friends had not abided his wishes and gone to the ship. The fact that they had come back to fight for him made him feel something, but he could not quite understand the sensation. It was unlike any of the feelings he had experienced when he was younger, before he learned to distance himself from such things. It was almost similar to the feeling he got when Frisha stood against her uncle on his behalf. Still, he needed his companions to get to the ship and to safety.

“You two! Get to the ship now!” he yelled, but he immediately had to turn his attention back to the eight men who were presently attempting to overwhelm him.

Yserria would not leave her liege. He had given her the opportunity to avenge her father’s murder, and she would not fail in her duty to protect her king. Palis’s thoughts were consumed by the redheaded warrior. If she would not leave, then neither would he.

The young noble withdrew his blade from the chest of his latest opponent and glanced around in the moonlit darkness. Somehow, above the rolling thunder of the waves and the grunts and clashes of battle, he heard a snick. Palis remembered that sound. It was the sound of a crossbow being loaded. His eyes darted around wildly until he finally saw the glint of light off the tip of the bolt. It was aimed directly at Yserria. Without a second thought, Palis launched himself at the young woman who was fighting off two opponents a few feet away. Tackling her to the ground, he heard the whoosh of the bolt as it shot by their heads just as the darkness found him.

Yserria struggled to shove Palis off her. She had heard the bolt pass by but did not think he had been hit. Perhaps he had been knocked unconscious in the fall. On the ground, half covered by the young man, the swordswoman managed to get her sword up in time to block a potentially fatal blow. As she held back her attacker, she gritted her teeth and shoved with all her might. As soon as her body was free, she rolled to the side and regained her feet. The Swordmaster released a flurry of strikes and overcame her less skilled opponents.

The flow of soldiers had slowed significantly, and the woman looked back to see Dark Tidings kick another man off his blade. Only the green crackling lightning was visible in the darkness. From the slight luminescence she could see that the cave entrance had become congested with the bodies of the fallen soldiers. It seemed that few were any longer willing to climb over their comrade’s bodies to face the deadly wraith.

Dark Tidings turned and rushed to her side as soon as he was certain the tide had ebbed. He looked her over quickly and then crouched to check the young man at her feet. Yserria was suddenly ashamed that she had not done so already, but she had been caught up in the fear and energy of the battle. A thought suddenly occurred to her.

“The crossbowman!” she nearly shouted.

“Dead,” Dark Tidings replied with a quick motion to show the man with a throwing dagger through his neck.

“And…him?” she asked tentatively, motioning to the young noble on the ground.

“Also dead,” said the wraith.

Chapter 27

“W-…h-…No! How?” Yserria wailed as her voice choked.

Dark Tidings turned the body in the darkness and said, “When he dove at you, he opened himself to a strike from the side. The sword thrust that was meant for you entered under his ribs and struck straight into his heart.”

Yserria whimpered as she dropped to her knees. They could hear an officer barking orders back in the cave. The soldiers were attempting to clear some of the bodies as they regrouped. “We must be gone,” Dark Tidings said.

“We cannot leave him here,” the young woman protested.

Dark Tidings cleaned the blood from the young man’s sword and slipped it back into its scabbard. He grunted as he hefted the young man’s body onto his back and across his shoulders. It was then that Yserria noticed her liege was injured.

“You are hurt!” she exclaimed.

“I was distracted and failed to avoid a crossbow bolt. I took one to the shoulder. I will live,” the wraith said quietly. When Rezkin had glanced back and saw Palis go down, he had been suddenly overcome with feelings he could not comprehend. Even now they were threatening to strangle him. The tightness in his chest simply would not dissipate, and it felt as though he was struggling to breathe. As he carried Palis to the water, he gripped the young man’s arm and leg more tightly, as if the action alone might make the young man breathe again. Of course, he knew it would not, but this death seemed somehow so much more final than all the others.

Dark Tidings and Yserria splashed through the surf toward the approaching longboat. When the water became too deep, they began to swim. The water pulled at Rezkin’s armor and weapons, but he felt a surge of the familiar battle energy, and his muscles and stamina were strengthened.

The warrior discovered one unintended benefit of his mask and Wesson’s magic. It turned out the breathing holes the mage had enchanted to draw in air would only draw in air, including air from the water. Since the mask was form-fitted to his face and enchanted not to fall off, it was essentially sealed, and he was able to breath underwater while wearing the mask. This revelation might have been more marvelous if Rezkin had not been towing the body of his deceased friend. As it was, he could barely clear the images of Palis’s smile and exuberance enough to see through the darkness before him.

Two members of the ship’s crew were rowing the longboat, which carried both Brandt and Kai. Kai leaned over to assist Yserria into the vessel as Brandt grasped frantically at his fallen friend.

“Palis? What? NO! Is he okay? Palis!” the young noble prattled as he struggled to pull the sodden body into the boat. Kai and Yserria shifted to the other side as Dark Tidings heaved his own burdensome weight into the rocking vessel.

Brandt jerked up after finally realizing Palis was truly dead. He launched himself at Dark Tidings. The warrior had not yet gained his feet and sat propped against the side of the boat as he held the young man at bay.

“This is YOUR fault!” Brandt shouted as he hammered his fists into the king.

Dark Tidings took the hits and made no move against the angry, grieving young man. Eventually, the barrage subsided. The warrior gripped Brandt’s shoulders firmly as the young man’s head lowered and fell into the king’s chest as he wept. The energy rush of battle bled out, and Palis’s death finally struck Yserria hard. The young woman broke into great heaving sobs all over the burly striker.

The longboat reached the ship, and the crew and passengers held torches over the side in an attempt to see the new arrivals far below. The distance was too great for the light to shine clearly, and Rezkin decided he had best ascend first to inform everyone of Palis’s passing. When he reached the deck, people shied away from him. Although he had been a beacon of strength and safety during their flight, he was now the strange, dark wraith who had defeated every one of the tournament’s best swordsmen and warriors and killed five strikers in a single battle.

Dark Tidings strode purposefully over to Malcius who looked on anxiously. From beneath his heavy, wet cloak Rezkin withdrew the fallen young man’s sword and scabbard. Malcius’s face drained to match the pale light of the moon. His eyes did not leave the sword as Dark Tidings held it in offering.

“Lord Palis died a warrior’s death, a hero’s death. His sacrifice was of the highest honor,” the wraith intoned.

Frisha gasped and swayed as tears sprung to her eyes. Tam caught the young woman and held her close as she began to weep.

Malcius backed away from the proffered sword. “No,” he said adamantly shaking his head. “Give it to Palis. It is his sword.”

“Lord Malcius, your brother is dead,” Dark Tidings said firmly but with as much compassion as could be conveyed through the disturbing voice and mask.

Frisha was comforted by her best friend, but Tam was not who she felt she needed at this moment. She wanted to feel safe.

“Where is Rezkin?” she blurted between sobs.

Malcius rounded on Dark Tidings with anger. “Yes! Where is Rezkin? He is sworn to protect us! He was supposed to protect Palis! Where is he?”

“Malcius, no! That is not what I meant. This is not Rezkin’s fault!” Frisha protested.

“No? Then whose? Is this your fault?” he directed at the dark warrior. “You were there on the beach. You, who can take on an army! You should have protected him!”

Rezkin felt a burst of anger, but not at the accusing young man. His anger was directed at himself for not doing just as Malcius said. “I did protect him. Lord Palis was safely away. He should have been back at the ship with Lord Brandt,” he said pointing at the young man who had just boarded the ship. “Mistress Yserria turned back to fight at my side, and Lord Palis returned to fight, rather than flee. He refused to leave Mistress Yserria behind. In the end, he gave his life to protect the woman he loved. I will not have you soil his honor by blaming his death on my inability to save him! He could have been safe, but he chose the path of a warrior and died as such!”

“You are saying that my brother died for that…that…commoner?” Malcius exclaimed pointing at the young woman Brandt was helping over the rail. Yserria’s face scrunched up, and she began weeping anew.

A couple of crew members were now hoisting at the rope that would bring the body aboard, and Malcius shoved through the crowd to reach over the side and grab at his brother. When Palis was finally laid out on the wooden planks, Malcius leaned over him and released a bellow of bereavement from deep within a bitter soul. Someone must have thought to inform Shiela, for a moment later she came bursting from the cabin with more haste than Rezkin had ever seen in the young woman. She threw herself onto her fallen brother and pounded on his chest.

“No! Wake up, Palis! Wake up!” she wailed. For once she had not a care for the seawater and blood that soaked through her rumpled gown. Frisha knelt beside her cousin and wrapped the young woman in her arms, and both ladies cried for their loss.

While the family was grieving over the fallen hero, the ship’s crew was working around everyone the best they could to raise the longboats and get the ship under sail. The captain eventually approached Kai, who had been his contact up until this point, and informed the striker that they needed the deck cleared to work. The captain attempted to hide his surprise when the striker deferred to the dark warrior’s command.

“Move Palis’s body to where it can be prepared for burial at sea. Gather the strikers and our traveling companions in the mess, including the guards and army personnel with whom we traveled. Make sure the others are secure in the decks below. I saw Healer Jespia and one other healer among the refugees. Did they make it aboard?”

“Yes, your majesty,” the striker replied. The captain’s eyes widened, but he said nothing.

The black wraith said, “Ensure they have anything they need to treat the injured and rescued slaves. Journeyman Wesson can provide them with any materials from my supplies that they require.”

“As you command, your majesty,” the striker replied as he saluted. “Ah, perhaps you should have that looked at,” he said with a nod toward the crossbow bolt protruding from Rezkin’s shoulder.”

“Send for Journeyman Wesson and Mistress Reaylin,” he ordered.

“Yes, your majesty,” Kai repeated with a bow. Striker Roark saluted as well and then followed in Kai’s wake to assist in carrying out the orders.

“Captain, we may encounter some resistance beyond the cove. You should prepare for battle,” Dark Tidings stated.

“Ah, yes, ah…I take it you are the one called Dark Tidings? They say you are the True King and that King Caydean is a usurper,” the captain said uncertainly.

Dark Tidings stared at the captain. “You are well-spoken for a captain of a merchant vessel,” the warrior observed.

“Captain Merk Estadd. I hail from a noble House,” the captain replied. “I was once a commander in the King’s Navy but was relieved of my command after King Bordran died. I disagreed with some of the changes taking place and voiced my opinions to the wrong ears.”

Of course, Rezkin thought to himself. Kai was at it again. He was a cunning man, well suited for his position as a striker. He chose his vessel and captain carefully. “Very well, Captain, at this moment I care not what you believe. I only care about getting these people away from this island to a place where they will be safe. You may choose to ignore the politics and simply carry out your duties as ship’s captain, or you may choose to serve me as a loyal subject. What I will not abide is you working against me or questioning my orders.”

“Yes, your majesty,” the captain acquiesced with a thoughtful look. “Our heading, your majesty?”

“The Yeltin Isles, Captain,” replied the dark wraith. “You may stop in Channería for supplies and to release any refugees who desire to depart at that point.”

“Yes, your majesty,” the captain said with a salute and then stomped off barking orders to his crew.

Wesson and Reaylin arrived together. Both were upset, and Reaylin was particularly irritable since she was trying to hide the fact that she had been crying. The young mage knew Dark Tidings was Rezkin, of course, but Reaylin nearly froze in the dark wraith’s presence.

“Your majesty,” the young rebel uttered as she dropped to her knees and practically prostrated herself before him.

“Rise,” Rezkin ordered, and she scurried to her feet eager to do her king’s bidding. “I require your assistance,” the dark wraith intoned.

“Of course, your majesty,” Reaylin said with a proud grin as she gripped the hilt of her sword.

“With this,” he added as he gestured to the offending crossbow bolt.

The young woman’s eyes widened upon seeing the embedded projectile. With Dark Tidings’ black attire and the poor lighting of the torches, the dark iron bolt had been nearly invisible. “Oh,” she eloquently responded. Reaylin was obviously unhappy with having to perform the healing, but she did not protest and was determined to serve her king.

When the healing was finished, Rezkin motioned for Striker Shezar to follow him to a remote corner of the ship where they could not be overheard. He questioned Shezar relentlessly for about twenty minutes. Some of the news was known to him, but much of it was new and disturbing. He would need to spend much, much more time questioning the strikers, but for now, he had to meet with his traveling companions.

The mess was packed with people. They sat in chairs and leaned on tables and against the walls. Dark Tidings nodded to Wesson who did his best to shield the room from prying ears. Malcius, Shiela, Brandt and Frisha all sat with puffy, red eyes. A morose Tieran was present, as well as Baron Fendendril and his son. Tam, Reaylin, Jimson, Drascon and Millins were seated to one side. The Jebai, Nirius, and Nasque House Guards were all present. The strikers stood lined up along the wall near the doorway as if to prevent anyone from escape. The mood was tense and somber.

Rezkin sent Kai to ensure everything was going as planned and that the captain was carrying out his orders. Dark Tidings stood to one side of the room, and everyone turned to face him. “Where are you taking us?” Malcius spat. “Are we now to be your hostages?” he asked with a nod toward the strikers.

“Malcius, you speak out of turn,” Tieran scolded. “You are addressing the king.”

“The king? Caydean is the king, and it is because of him,” he said pointing accusingly at the wraith, “that the king attacked the tournament and Palis died!”

Striker Shezar interrupted and said, “That is not true. Caydean had plans to attack the tournament long before rumor of the True King surfaced. You and your brother had the chance to leave Dark Tidings’ company in Skutton. You both made your choice.”

“Enough,” Dark Tidings’ thundered. “Lord Malcius’s outbursts may be excused. His shock over his brother’s death is affecting his thoughts and mood. I apologize, Lord Malcius and Lady Shiela, that I cannot simply allow you to mourn properly at this moment. We have important news that you must know. Significant events have occurred beyond those in Skutton.”

Malcius clenched his fists and jaw and glared at Dark Tidings with watery eyes. He nodded once for the man to continue.

“Firstly, Caydean has replaced the Council of Lords in its entirety. All of the former members who spoke against him have been designated traitors. Not only are they officially divested of their titles and lands, but the Heads and their families are to be executed if they are not already dead.” Shocked gasps and outbursts of discontent flooded the room. Everyone wanted news of his or her family’s wellbeing and status in the kingdom.

Dark Tidings raised a hand, and the room fell quiet once again. “The dukes and all members of their Houses have been convicted of treason, and they are all sequestered on their lands preparing for battle. Caydean did not just send the army to collect foreigners at the tournament or to capture me. He sent the army to deal with Ytrevius, just as he is doing with Darning, Wellinven, and Atressian. Ytrevius was merely the first and least prepared, since most of his forces were wrapped up with the tournament or patrolling the peninsula.”

“What of our families?” asked Malcius. He had the look of a man who would break under another blow.

Dark Tidings lowered his head before looking up again and said, “As I have said, anyone standing against Caydean was deemed a traitor. House Jebai was among them. Your mother and father have been imprisoned pending execution. The army had orders to collect you as well.” Shiela wailed at the news, and Malcius took the young woman in his arms as he angrily glared at the bearer of the ill tidings.

Turning his attention to the Jebai House Guards, Dark Tidings said, “I am sorry to inform you that most of your comrades are dead, and those who are not are in the wind. The families of missing guards are being rounded up for use as leverage. Caydean has promised that if you turn yourselves in, he will release your families. I am told that in all such instances, the promise was not kept. Boys of age thirteen or older are being forced into the army, while women, girls, and young boys are being given to those loyal to Caydean or sent to the slave markets.”

“But, slavery is illegal in Ashai!” exclaimed Guent, one of the Jebai House Guards.

“Not so under Caydean’s rule,” Dark Tidings replied.

“What of my family?” Brandt eagerly questioned.

“House Gerrand has declared loyalty to Caydean,” Dark Tidings replied. “You are ordered to return immediately.”

A mixture of disgust and relief flooded Brandt’s face. “But, I do not understand. My House has always been loyal to Jebai.”

“I would say the decision has more to do with survival than loyalty. Your parents remain unharmed,” Dark Tidings explained. “Those who are loyal to Caydean were required to make certain…sacrifices, however. In most cases, family members have been taken hostage and sent to live indefinitely in the Houses of those who are more strongly under Caydean’s control. Your younger brother now resides in House Carinen.” Brandt blanched as Dark Tidings turned his attention to the baron.

“Lord Nasque, your loyalty is yet undeclared. You, as well as all other undeclared nobles attending the tournament, were to be detained in Skutton and questioned. You may return at the first opportunity, of course, but I am afraid that any who saw you escape in my company will accuse you of treason.”

The baron sighed and nodded knowingly. “I am afraid my son made his decision long before this night. My wife passed many years ago, and we have no other family at home, but I do worry for our retainers.” To his guards he said, “I am sorry. You are, of course, released to see to your families when we make landfall, if it is not already too late.” The four guards shifted nervously.

“I am afraid we will not be making landfall for some time,” Dark Tidings stated. “We are pursued by the King’s Navy and will not be able to make port again until we reach the Channerían port city of Serret.”

“I don’t understand!” Frisha exclaimed. “How could Uncle Marcum do this?”

“He did not,” Dark Tidings replied. “Lord Marcum is no longer General of the Army of Ashai. He refused to carry out his orders. Somehow, he escaped capture, and he and his household have fled Kaibain. I have no news of his whereabouts.”

“Who is the new general?” asked Jimson.

“A man named Abrigan,” the warrior replied.

Jimson, Drascon and Millins all looked at each other in confusion. “I have not heard of the man. What was his post?”

“He was not in the army. He is the youngest brother of Marquis Petrivis,” Dark Tidings replied. “The marquis, by the way, has been raised to Duke and is poised to claim Wellinven once it is vacated.”

“Um…y-your majesty,” Frisha ventured uncertainly. She knew one was not supposed to question the king, but he did not seem to be offended by questions thus far, and she had to know. “Where is Rezkin?”

Dark Tidings bowed his head. He knew this moment would come. He really no longer had any need to hide. The only reason he had kept his identity a secret was to protect those who traveled with him and make moving about that much easier. Now, everyone he knew was marked for death, anyway.

Frisha gasped in the silence. “Please, don’t say he’s dead.”

Tam shifted uncomfortably and gripped the woman’s hand.

“No,” replied the disturbing voice of the wraith. The True King reached up and removed the demonic mask to reveal startling, icy blue eyes – eyes that belonged to Rezkin.

The entire room was wrapped in a thick blanket of silence. Aside from the initial jolt, no one even dared to move or breathe for a moment. Strikers Shezar and Roark were stunned at Dark Tidings’ youth, and both wore looks of confused recognition.

The normally quiet baron cleared his throat and muttered, “Well, that was unexpected, although I cannot fathom why. It makes perfect sense, now.”

“Rez? I…how can this be?” asked Frisha. She gripped Tam’s hand so tightly he thought it might be crushed. “You…you lied to us?”

“No, I never lied,” came the response in Rezkin’s own smooth, deep voice. “I mislead, misdirected, and allowed you to make your own assumptions, but I never lied. Not to any of you.”

“It was you. It was you all along,” Malcius accused. “All that time Palis spent searching and wondering, and you were right there beside him,” he observed in defeat.

“Do not say that! Do not mention his name!” Shiela wailed as she burst into tears anew.

“I will NOT forget him!” Malcius roared as he slammed a fist on the table, inciting a traumatized squeal from the young woman. “I will not stop talking about him EVER, you stupid, spoiled girl!” Silence, broken only by sniffles and sobs, followed the outburst.

Finally, Frisha asked, “Rez, how can you be the True King? Is that true?”

“It is. King Bordran bequeathed unto me unlimited authority and autonomy. I believe it is my responsibility to claim the crown from Caydean,” Rezkin replied.

“But, why you?” the young woman asked with tears in her eyes.

“He is family,” said Tieran from beside her.

“What?” she exclaimed, and honest surprise was shared by all who did not already know.

“It is true. Mage Wesson confirmed it. We believe Rezkin to be my cousin,” Tieran replied.

Both of the strikers were nodding agreement. “It is obvious. He looks just like them. Mage test or no, I doubt anyone would argue the point.”

Frowning with furrowed brows, everyone really looked at Rezkin. It was as if a fog cleared and a lantern was lit when recognition dawned.

“By the Maker, you look just like King Bordran in his younger days,” exclaimed the baron. “How did I not see it before?”

“It was a spell,” Wesson interjected. “A spell lies over Rezkin that enables him to keep his identity hidden. Now that you know the truth, you are no longer affected by the spell.”

“How?” Brandt asked. His eyes bore into Rezkin with determination.

Rezkin shrugged. “I do not know. As many of you know, I never knew my family. I was unaware of the relationship until Wesson performed his test. I am perhaps the bastard son of Bordran or his brother Deysius.”

“But why did he choose you? Why not Tieran or anyone else?” Frisha pleaded. She was frightened and confused and absolutely certain that the True King of Ashai would never marry someone of such low stature.

Rezkin looked at the young woman with hard, sad eyes. “Since birth, I have done nothing but train. I studied history, economics, politics, law, foreign relations and cultures, languages, healing and nearly any other subject you can name. I have trained in every known manner of combat, mastered every weapon available, mastered every Skill and learned to live by the Rules. Bordran made sure I had every Skill and resource he could provide, not the least of which was anonymity. Without that, I would surely have been killed long before my training was complete. I was taught to survive. I was taught to kill. I was taught to lead. Bordran did not choose someone who would make a good king. He made someone who could overthrow a bad one.”

End of Book Two

Rezkin will return in King’s Dark Tidings, Book Three

Characters

Rezkin – A young warrior trained under mysterious circumstances

Master Jaiardun – Trainer at the mysterious northern fortress

Master Peider – Trainer at the mysterious northern fortress

Striker Farson – Striker at the northern fortress who escaped the fortress battle

Striker Adona – Striker at the northern fortress

Sheyalin – a Master Swordsmith who lived and died over two hundred years past

Frisha Souvain – Rezkin’s Girl Friend, a.k.a. Lady Frisha Marcum

Tamarin “Tam” Blackwater – Young carpenter’s apprentice; Frisha’s escort

Captain Jimson – King’s Army officer; friend and travel companion to Rezkin

King Caydean – King of Ashai, First son of King Bordran

Prince Thresson – Prince of Ashai, Second son of King Bordran that went missing

General Marcum Jebai – General of the Army of Ashai; Frisha’s uncle

Simeon Jebai – Count of Glasbury; General Marcum’s older brother

Reaylin de Voss – Young female healer who wants to be a warrior

Tieran Nirius – Son of Duke Wellinven; Involved in a confrontation at restaurant

Sergeant Millins – Army escort for Frisha and the Jebais to Skutton

Second Lieutenant Drascon – Army escort for Frisha and the Jebais to Skutton

Malcius Jebai – Heir to House Jebai, Frisha’s cousin

Palis Jebai – Second heir to House Jebai, Frisha’s cousin

Brandt Gerrand – Friend of the Jebais accompanying them to Skutton

Shiela Jebai – Simeon’s daughter, Frisha’s cousin

Tami – Shiela’s maid

Ferrel – Jebai House Guardsman

Guent – Jebai House Guardsman

Maris – Jebai House Guardsman

Jeyet – Jebai House Guardsman

Captain Crowleson – captain of the Luna Mara

Colton – Tieran’s manservant

Drom Nasque – Baron of Fendendril

Waylen Nasque – Baron Fendendril’s son

Journeyman Mage Wesson – Journeyman mage employed by Rezkin

Magistrate Jiruthis – Magistrate of Teurning

Mayor Tanning Quey – Mayor of Teurning

Zankai (Kai) Colguerun Tresdian – tried for the murder of Preson Quey in Teurning

Preson Quey – killed in fight in Teurning, Mayor Quey’s son

Queen Lecillia – Bordan’s queen

King Golial – the Mad King, 602-637

Duke Oerand – Assumed the throne after overthrowing King Golial

Lord Gresh Carinen – a villainous lord who supports Caydean

Dynen Carinen – First son of Gresh Carinen, Swordmaster

Rhesh Carinen – Second son of Gresh Carinen, Fire Mage

Duke Darning – Third cousin of Lady Carinen, fostered Rhesh Carinen

Hilith Gadderand – Displaced Guildmaster of the Razor Edge Guild in Kaibain

Duke Atressian – Contender against Duke Wellinven for the throne

Duke Ytrevius – Lords over the southern isles and western peninsula, has five daughters

Keskian – Master Swordsmith that forged Rezkin’s black blade

Lord Urterian – Marquis of Shezeil, from the Kingdom of Jerea

Aspion of Ludren – Commoner blacksmith competing in the Fifth Tier and Melee

Nanessy Threll – Elemental mage, fire and water affinity

Darius Vaughnright – Saddler competing in the Fifth Tier of the tournament

Holton of Skutton – Farmer competing in the Fifth Tier of the tournament

Yserria Rey – Commoner woman competing in the Fifth Tier of the tournament

Brendam LuDou – Captain of the Royal Guard for King Desbian of Torrel

Jeriah – Stable hand for Duke Ytrevius

Master Grey –Stable Master for Ytrevius

Guardsman Mrikson – Member of Ytrevius House Guard

Safrina – 18 yrs, Duke Ytrevius’s eldest daughter.

Geila – 16 yrs, Duke Ytrevius’s second daughter.

Hespion – Youngest son of Duke Atressian

Fierdon – Atressian’s eldest son

Deysius – King Bordran’s brother who died without an heir

King Trent – King of Verril

Lady Chiselia – Daughter of Baron Esceran, having an affair with Duke Ytrevius.

Jespia – Healer during the tournament who investigates Malcius’s poisoning

LeukSergeant Yail Stratus – Tournament official, former Third Tier champion

Urius Sedt – Captain of the Guard for Duke Wellinven

Shivés Ruolt – Count under the authority of Duke Darning, Daggermaster

Parker Farmer – commoner farmer from Skutton, Stavemaster

Ethric Gurrell – Chieftain of the Eastern Mountains tribe at the tournament

Queen Deseria – former queen of Lon Lerésh, her brother killed her

Marquis of Quenth – (Ashai) second place winner of Fifth Tier

Klent Wolton – one of Caydean’s select strikers

Shezar Olnag – a loyal striker

Roark Genring – a loyal striker

Merk Estadd – Captain of the Stargazer, the ship leaving Skutton

Definitions

Kingslayer – Sheyalin longsword

Bladesunder – Sheyalin shortsword

Jahartan Empire – Ancient foe of Ashai during King Coroleus’s reign

su’carai – Weapons used by the nomadic mountain tribes to the far east.

Cronelis – A breed of horse

Augmerian – Battle charger of the king’s stock

Bo’duen Parté – A complicated archaic sword form

vimara – Mage power, “water of life”

Gorova and Munera – Mythical fae beings that symbolized truth and justice

great horn wool – Export of Ashai

chessery – An herb grown in Verril

padrion – A type of dye; export of Ashai

selaric – A mage material that becomes pliant and easily formed when vimara is applied.

saph – A gold coin with an inset sapphire worth one hundred gold pieces.

dret – A gold coin with an outer ring of dretious, worth ten gold pieces.

dretious – A mage crafted material used in coins.

fithyball – A sport often played by children in the street

sylph – Air spirit

nixie – A female water spirit, generally unfriendly

Meagran Principal – The merchant principal that says that if people believe a good is difficult to acquire or that it is going to be in limited supply, you could make a much higher profit even if it wasn’t true.

sable sand – A material used by mages

cindermint oil – Used for determining the nature of poisons and toxins

crophylius serum – Very deadly poison

triania extract – Not deadly poison, used for inducing sleep and vomiting; treated with solument powder

solument powder – Used to treat triania poisoning

terandian root oil – Used to treat wyrmwood poisoning

“Leuk” – Prefix affixed to a military rank to indicate someone who finished his 5-year term and no longer serves (e.g. LeukSergeant)

naginata – A wooden pole with a long single-edged blade at one end

About the Author

Kel Kade is a single parent who currently lives and works in Texas as an adjunct faculty member at a few area colleges teaching courses in geosciences. Growing up, Kade lived a military lifestyle of traveling and moving to new places every few years. Not only did these childhood experiences instill in Kade a sense of wanderlust, but they also helped to shape an open mind and understanding that the Earth is expansive and wild, and world culture is so diverse it is completely indefinable. Kade has always had a deep interest in science, ancient history, cultural anthropology, art, music, languages, and spirituality, which is evidenced by the diversity and richness of the places and cultures depicted in these writings.

Note from the Author

I hope you enjoyed reading this second book in the King’s Dark Tidings (KDT) series. Please consider leaving a review or comments so that I may continue to improve and expand upon this ongoing series. Also visit the Kel Kade Official Website.