Darkness threatened to engulf Sethlzaar as his fears welled up from within him. He knew it very well. It was a companion he took solace in, and a companion he had grown to fear. Soon the eyes watched, and the hilts beckoned, and he dreamed in the day. However, his watchers made no entrance, only the blades. Taunting. Teasing. Beckoning. He knew where he was. Out with Father Kazaril, he told himself, capturing a touched.
This dream was different from the ones he knew. Not only did his watchers prove absent, the h
The next morning, they came for Jazabil, blades drawn as they stood guard. Today Commander Olann was not among them. The soldiers of the King's blade pulled her by the chain that held her to the wall, dragging her out of the church, Father Kezaril following behind them, scorn marring his face while she spat curses at him in a language Sethlzaar didn't understand. He didn't need to understand her words to know, though.He watched it all from the window of his room. It was surreal knowing she was to be burned at high noon. The woman he had spoken with last night would cease to exist before the
The feel of the seminary was a welcomed one. Sethlzaar and his brothers had given up their cloaks for white cassocks, ones, unlike those of the official cassocks of the priests, was without capes, and now they resided in a tower west of the compound, beyond the smithy. Despite the heights of the towers they now lived in, the ones they had lived in for so long dwarfed them considerably.There was a new addition to their training. It encompasse
By their fourth month they had learned what Father Munidu sought to teach them. Even Sethlzaar showed a mastery of the technique, seeming capable of putting the dog to silence without having to look at it. Learning it before his remaining brothers, it seemed to solicit a suspicious look from Father Munidu.“How effective is it against humans, Father?” Sethlzaar asked as they practiced the Abeet, a commandment that had their horses stand in place for as long as was required.
“In the next six months,” Monsignor Shrowl told them, “you will be prepared for the test of the hunt.”It was late in the month of Martis and the snow from the winter had thawed, giving way for the green grass and the warm way. They stood in front of the dining hall, clad in their white cassocks as the Monsignor addressed them.
The months that followed had the brothers of the seminary supervised but not taught. The priests stayed their hands, keeping their reactions to any mistakes made to a frown or a twitch of the jaw. Father Ordan watched them as they sparred with each other, teaching themselves and developing an understanding of each other's weaknesses.Narvi was looked to for corrections on the way of the sword, and he proved a patient teacher at best. He taught them the more intricate moves Father Ordan had taught them with a deftness. Sethlzaar, however, found it more difficult than the others, afforded to th
Sethlzaar held back his ire at the sound of whistling. It was an odd strategy as far as strategies went, and only served to reveal the whistler’s location. Obviously, that was the intent.The time of day was difficult to discern considering the kooliga forest was always dark. But the seminary had released them sometime towards dusk, so it was safe to assume night was drawing nigh. Sethlzaar held back a sigh. A month ago the seminary had started them on a new training, a mock test of sorts. It was a battle test where each tower was pitted against the other in the vast expanse of the Kooliga forest. The time of day was not fixed, and Sethlzaar had a
The test of the hunt came in the early days of the month of Setemis. They were required to carry their veils, hunting knives, bow and quiver, water canteens, and flints, along with their cloaks. They left the seminary by the west gate where Father Ordan found them a carriage in the city. It took them out of the city and, after a three-hour journey, it came to a stop.Ordan brought them to the head of the Vaznik forest. Not much was known about it to them. Still, it would be accurate to say they knew of it. In truth, it was a simple forest.
Cenam led them before the crack of dawn. He followed the trail through the day as they tracked under the summer heat, while Sethlzaar brought down any prey that crossed their path, from the hares burrowing into the dirt to the birds soaring the skies a little too low.They filled their canteens anytime they came across puddles, which proved rare. The trail turned at intervals, heading east, then north. Soon they lost track of where they had begun following it.
Darkness has never truly been a thing of worry here. Basically, it’s most often dark here. Most of us don’t like it, but time is enough to make anyone adapt to it. Still, it’s not like we have much of an option. Wether it’s dark or bright or generally colorless, it wouldn’t matter, this is the life we live. We would claim we didn’t choose it, that it chose us. But I’ll be honest, we chose it as much as it chose us. Every action we ever took has led us here; at least all the actions I ever took led me here.
Maekil snapped his finger in recognition. “Yes,” he almost exclaimed. “The Shadow Child of the Conisoir. Even the Lords employ it to scare their children from bad deeds.” He placed a finger to his bottom lip in puzzlement. “Although, yours is different. Why is that?”“Because it is the true tale.”“And you believe this
Red wine twirled within a transparent cup made of glass and fashioned for the simple and unnecessary sake of aesthetics. By Truth, Maekil never could understand the desire to be pleasing to the eye. Perhaps it was because all his life he had been nothing but pleasing to the eye, perhaps it was not. He dropped the cup without taking a sip.He would only taste of the wine when the night was over and the morning greeted him with the light of the sun. Normally this wasn’t the case: not in his manor.
Valerik came awake screaming and gasping. His cassock was soaked in sweat and a terror grasped at his heart as he cried into arms that held him with so much untainted love. But somethings were greater than others and he knew that no love or hate or indifference could triumph over the terror that held him.“What’s wrong, father?” a voice asked.He knew who
Valerik opened his eyes from his slumber, instinct propelled to reach across him to ensure he bow still lay where he’d left it last night when he’d bedded down for the night. The bow was the livelihood of his people. A man with no knowledge of where his bow lay at all times was a failure of a man. Assured it was where he’d left it, he rose from the ground to a sitting position and watched the man who sat on the log on the other side of a fire that was nothing but ash. No doubt it had fizzled out sometime during the night, considering no one had paid it any attention.
Sethlzaar blinked the darkness away, but he might as well have waved away the air. Unable to see, he sat up with ease. The floor was covered in grass and served as a soft bed to his rump, so much so that he hesitated to rise to his feet. But he did.Around him was overshadowed in a familiar darkness, and when he took a step forward he frowned at the sight before him.A rub
They couldn’t afford to let the fight drag on. But if there were no wisps, how could he change its course? If Berlak evaded him at every turn, how could they turn the tide? The answer came to him as quickly as the question. There’s more you can do in the dark.Stepping forward, he moved his hand in as he spun from the cover of Cenam’s back to oppose Berlak. The god turned away from his attack easily, striking a closed fist against the flat of Cenam’s veil.
Sethlzaar saw the moment the fight was decided. The climax to the torrential build up. Cenam swung the veil in his left hand. A downward stroke designed to take his enemy’s head. Berlak reacted as fast as the stroke itself, his longsword striking the veil from Cenam’s grip, taking away the priest’s advantage. But Sethlzaar had seen such decisions before. Cenam had intended it. The strike, although intended to take the man’s head, had never truly been expected to. Not a feint. A sacrifice.Cenam’s second ve
The war raged on within the city walls, though the carnage was not as depressing within as it was without. Sethlzaar carried himself in a full sprint, his previously perceived fatigue ebbing away at the touch of darkness as he followed where Cenam led. Bratvi kept pace beside him and paid no obvious attention to his broken wrist. One thing was certain; even if the Most Reverend could fight, it would be impossible to use both veils.There was no doubt that those who had given the once mythical city of Arlyn its reigning title had never stepped foot within its walls. Still, there wa