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The Lady of the Tower; Chizu strikes again XD
Topic Started: Mar 11 2012, 11:18 PM (368 Views)
Chizu
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So...I figured since we have this forum, I might as well put up one of the stories I'm working on on the side. ^_^ Comments are welcome and appreciated. I'll post each new chapter up as I write it, and I'll answer questions if anyone wants to post them on here.

The story was sparked by a sudden influx of reading material, and I've been slowly adding to it for the better part of a week.

This is fantasy, now, because I like writing that sort of thing. If you don't like that sort of thing, you've been warned. This is also a very rough draft, so it's not going to be perfect and the quality may fluctuate depending on my mood while writing.

And it goes without saying, but if I catch this story anywhere on the internet in a place I didn't put it under a name that isn't mine, I will be mad.

Anyway, without further ado...The Lady of the Tower.




THE LADY OF THE TOWER
By:
Chizu


Table of Contents:
Prologue
Chapter 1: Apprentice and Master
Chapter 2: The Student in the Shadow
Chapter 3: The Man in the Town
Chapter 4: Sword and Star
Edited by Chizu, Mar 15 2012, 12:21 AM.
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Chizu
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PROLOGUE

The Lady of the Tower watched, and waited.

She had seen countless seasons change from her window at the top of the world. Countless springs, countless summers, countless autumns, countless winters. The world spun on in a cycle around her, moving constantly. People moved in the world below, their forms almost indistinguishable from that height. The days began to blend into one another, each the same as the last, a constant flow of time that soon became indistinguishable to her. The time moved on, flowing constantly in a stream around her, while the Lady and her Tower stood still, a stubborn stone in the river.

She watched and waited.

It hadn’t been long since the man had visited her. It had been long to him. He had grown and changed in the years. She had not. But she remembered still his words and the look in his eye, just as she remembered all of them, the handful of people that had interrupted her watch and her wait. Seven, she remembered. There would be seven, and the seventh would be the last.

The man was sixth. The seventh would be the last.

She stood in her tower and watched the sun rise over the world, its golden light chasing away the shadows of night, and she felt something stir within her, something that she hadn’t felt in so long.

Change.

This day was different from the others. Time had come to her once more.

The seventh would be the last.

The Lady watched from her window, a small smile appearing on her face.

She would wait.
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CHAPTER 1: Apprentice and Master

The wagon jerked to a stop at the end of the street, and Valien quickly jumped to his feet, springing out of the tent flap at the back and landing on the ground in a crouched position, his pack slung over one shoulder. He looked around, his eyes wide as he quickly surveyed the scene. The wagon had taken them to the top of a hill. White cobblestone streets wound down the hill around him, stone buildings seeming to go on into the distance. Blue and gold banners hung from poles dotted on certain street corners, trees and flower beds decorating the side of the road. The boy turned his head, staring at the great white gates that rose up in front of him, the towers behind them seeming impossibly high.

“Pick your jaw up off the ground and stop staring, Valien,” said a voice from behind him. “You’re embarrassing me.”

Valien turned towards the wagon, watching as the older man nimbly jumped out of it, his coat settling around him as he landed on the ground. The man’s hair was a dark brown color, tied back at the nape of his neck with a strip of black leather. He had a pack around his shoulders as well. His hands were gloved, and he wore a sword openly at his side. A black coat settled over his shoulders, an insignia on its back. It matched the insignia hanging from the banners on the wall. Valien himself was dressed in simple traveling clothes, his now short black hair blowing in the wind. He was a scrawny boy of about thirteen, his eyes a clear gray.

“Sorry, Master Samran,” said Valien.

“Well, it’s good to see you’re excited, at any rate,” said Samran, sighing. He gestured at the driver. The man jerked the horse’s reins, making a clicking sound and turning the wagon around. Valien’s eyes widened as the wagon moved out of reach, and he reached his hand out towards it, reflexively trying to grab the supplies he had left inside. Samran put an arm over his, lowering his hand. “He has instructions to bring the supplies inside. Don’t worry about it.”

Valien stared after the wagon, embarrassed. Slowly, he lowered his arm, frowning at his master. “How do we know he’s not gonna make off with our stuff?” he asked.
“He’s a trusted servant of the Academy,” said Samran, turning away. At Valien’s puzzled expression, he sighed. “Things are a little different here than they were back in Azimor.”

“Yeah, no kidding…” said Valien, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

Samran placed his hand on Valien’s shoulder. “At any rate, we should head inside,” he said. “I’ll have to talk to the headmaster about you, and get you settled in. Behave yourself. Don’t make me regret this.”

Valien nodded once. “Don’t worry,” he said, his expression growing serious. “I won’t let you down.”

Samran said nothing, walking forward. Valien fell into step beside him, walking over to the gates. They were open now, a pair of guards standing on either side of the gates. Samran had explained the concept of the guards to him along the way. The gate was never closed, except in times of great emergency. The guards were posted in the gates in order to make sure that no one came into the Academy unauthorized. They let Samran through without a question, barely giving him a second glance. Valien didn’t particularly see the point of gates that never closed, but he said nothing as he followed Samran through them, not wanting to ruin this chance. He looked up at his newfound master, trying to read his expression as they walked up to the large building in front of them. He had always thought that he was good at reading people, but he didn’t understand Samran.

It had been about a week now since the strange man had first made his way into Azimor. In a town like Azimor, crippled by years of famine and the neglect of its lord, most of the street children ran with the different criminal gangs that divided the city up amongst themselves. Valien had run with the Nights as a pickpocket and small-time thief. Samran had been assigned as his mark. He still remembered the conversation he and Samran had had, after the other man had caught him stealing and had pinned him to the wall with his sword.

“Is this all you want to do with yourself?”

“It’s not like I’ve got much of a choice!”

“So choice is the problem, then? Fine, I’ll give you one. I leave tomorrow at noon. Meet me at the entrance to the city. I’ll wait for you for half an hour, and then I’ll leave, with or without you.”


And just like that, Samran had let him go. Valien remembered coming back with a small selection of coins from Samran’s purse, pushed into his hand on his way out the door. He had escaped a beating that night, but had still lain awake, Samran’s words echoing in his mind. The next day, he arrived at the gate precisely at half-past noon. Samran had scolded him for being late, but had taken him anyway, and along the way, had explained to him about the Academy. It had been Samran who had bought him a new set of functional travel clothes and had paid for a bath and a haircut. By the time he emerged from that room at the inn, he was almost unrecognizable.

Valien observed the area around him as he walked behind Samran, his hands in his pockets. They were walking down a long marble hallway, with a stony-faced guard standing at the other end of it. The guard stood outside a set of double doors. He wore one long sword at his side, and Valien noticed the fabric of his shirt clinging to the hilt of a dagger tucked underneath it. He said nothing, though, remembering Samran’s words about not causing trouble as he stood beside him and waited.

“State your name and business,” said the guard.

“Samran Altare, Master of Arms,” said Samran. “I’m here to see the headmaster about a new student.”

“The headmaster is in a meeting,” said the guard. “I’ve been instructed to take any messages for him. What is the student’s name?”

“His name is Valien,” said Samran.

“Surname?” asked the guard.

Samran’s eyes flickered towards Valien for a moment. Valien lowered his eyes to the ground, giving the man the barest shake of his head. Samran frowned at him for a moment, before nodding once.

“His name is Valien Altare.”

Valien’s eyes widened and he looked up at his master. The guard nodded once.
“Valien Altare,” he repeated. “I’ll let the headmaster know.”

“See that you do,” said Samran. He turned, walking down another hallway. Valien hurried to catch up with him, realizing that he was staring.

“Why did you do that?” asked Valien, breaking out of his jog and matching Samran’s brisk walk.

“You can’t train at the Academy without a proper name,” said Samran.

“But yours—,” began Valien.

Samran shrugged. “It’s not as if I have anyone left to pass it to,” he said. “At any rate, let’s get your gear, and then introduce you into the dormitory. Tomorrow will be a long day.”

An hour later, Valien had three sets of dark Academy uniforms, three sets of practice clothes, and a new metal sword at his waist. The clothes were of average quality, but they were newer and better than anything he had had in the past, excluding the clothes Samran had bought for him on the road. Valien tugged at his collar, feeling slightly uncomfortable as he followed Samran down the hall. A set of textbooks had come with his clothes and equipment, and they nearly dragged on the ground as he held them up with one hand.

“I am the Master of Arms at the Academy,” said Samran as they walked. “This means that my training is more geared towards arms and combat. My students often graduate to take on jobs in the king’s service, or become mercenaries.”

“I got that,” said Valien, nodding once.

“As a Master, I am also allowed to take on any apprentices I wish. The black uniform you wear means that you are apprenticed to a master, and answer directly to them.”

“How many apprentices d’you have?” asked Valien.

“I take three to five every six years,” said Samran with a shrug. “I’ll add one or two on occasion if they show promise, but generally I make sure all of my apprentices are on the same level. When one set graduates, I search for another. I hold my apprentices to more stringent requirements than I hold my students to. I expect each of you to take regular classes at the Academy for your first two years, and then choose an area of study to specialize in after that.” He glanced over at Valien. “You can read fairly well for a street child, but you will need to improve. I expect my apprentices to go on to be more than simple swords. Without a mind behind it, a sword is only a tool.”

Valien nodded once, keeping his reservations to himself. The idea of a life of study had never sounded appealing to him, but if it was a choice between that and going back out on the streets, he would study his hardest. He stared down at the books in his hand. The man who had turned them over to him had also given him a class schedule, along with three silver coins. The schedule had been glanced at and tossed in the bag, but the coins had gone straight in his pocket. Valien’s hand still drifted towards it as he walked, closing protectively over his pocket as they passed a pair of white-garbed students who eyed Valien with an air of jealousy. To anyone else, it would have been a fair amount, but it was more money than Valien had possessed at any one time.

“You’ll take all the same classes as the other first and second years at the Academy,” said Samran. “And you’ll train with me in the mornings. You will treat all other masters and professors with the same respect you give me, but I have the final say. Your allowance for the month is three silver coins. You can spend it in the town, but if you spend it all, you get no more until the first of the next month. Understand?”

He nodded quickly. “Yes, sir,” he said.

“Have you been keeping track of the way?”

Valien nodded again. As Samran talked, he had kept his eyes open for landmarks to tell him which way he was going. He guessed that they were somewhere in the west wing of the building. Samran led him to a staircase, and together, they began to climb.

“This is the Department of Arms,” said Samran. “My quarters are located at the top of this staircase. Yours are directly adjacent to mine. You will share a room with the other apprentices. It’s furnished slightly better than the regular dormitory rooms, but it’s still shared.”

Valien, who had spent most of his life sleeping on street corners or in crowded buildings, nodded again. It didn’t bother him. The idea of having his own bed was enough.

“One last thing,” said Samran as they reached the top of the stairs, stopping in front of a large door. Valien turned towards him as Samran met his eyes. “You are no longer a thief, Valien Altare,” said Samran, enunciating each word clearly as he stared down at Valien. “You are my apprentice and you bear my name. I will provide you with food, shelter, training, and an education. In return, you are to obey me while you are under my care and obey the rules of the Academy. No thieving. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Master,” said Valien, nodding once and meaning it. “I understand.”

“Good,” said Samran. “Dinner is at seven. Curfew is at ten. Your fellow apprentices can show you the way. You are a month late, so you will have to catch up. I will see you at dawn for tomorrow’s training.”

He turned, stepping into the room across the hall. Valien watched him go, then took a deep breath, running a hand through his newly shorn black hair and turning towards the double doors. They were an imposing sight, but doors had never intimidated him while he was a thief. They wouldn’t intimidate him now, he decided. He placed his hand on the door, pushing it open and stepping inside.

He had to turn his head away, shielding his eyes from the glare. The room had a large window that opened westward, and the sun was just beginning to crest the top of it. It was partly obscured by curtains, but still flooded the room. Once the glare had passed, though, he allowed himself to look around. The room had five beds arranged in various places, two closer to the window and three spread out around the rest of the room. Each bed had a trunk at its foot and shelves on the wall above it, with a wardrobe on one side and a desk next to the trunk. Three of the shelves—the two nearest the window and one on the far wall, had things stacked on them. The beds showed signs of being slept in. Two were empty.

An apprentice sat on the bed nearest the window. He looked about Valien’s age, but was smaller than he was, and more slender. He had a book open on the bed in front of him, and was sitting cross-legged, poring over it. His hair was blond, and cut messily around his face, and his eyes were a soft hazel. He was wearing the same black uniform as Valien was wearing, but it fit more loosely around his frame. His sword lay sheathed on the bed next to him.

“New apprentice?” he asked, not looking up as he flipped the page.

“Um, yeah,” said Valien.

He jerked his thumb in the direction of the two empty beds. “Pick whichever,” he said, before going back to his reading.

Valien glanced at the two available beds. He chose one that was the furthest away from the three occupied ones out of habit. Sleeping too close to others usually led to trouble, and he was confident that he would hear them before they could get to him in the night. He stacked his books on the shelf above the bed and tossed the rest of his belongings into the trunk, not bothering with the wardrobe. His small knife, the one thing that Samran had let him keep, he kept under his pillow.

He was about half-finished putting everything away when the door opened again. This time, the boy who entered had brown hair, and bright green eyes. He was about the same age and height as Valien, but he had a look about him that just screamed money. There was a friendly look in his eye, though, and Valien managed not to shrink away when he turned towards him.

“Hello there,” he said, pulling off his gloves and resting them on one of the occupied desks. “Are you the new apprentice that Master Samran told us to expect?”

No, he wanted to say, I just like sneaking into other people’s rooms. He held his tongue. “Yeah,” he said.

“Nice to meet you,” said the boy, extending a hand. “I’m Jasel Esire. I see that Liall’s already given you a welcome.”

Liall, the apprentice on the bed, rolled his eyes, going back to his reading. “You’d be unwelcoming too, if you had to learn all this crap by tomorrow.”

Valien glanced down at the hand for a moment, before glancing up at the boy. He looked friendly enough. Hesitantly, he reached up, lightly clasping the other boy’s hand.

“It’s Valien,” he said.

“Valien what?” asked Liall, looking up at him.

Valien hesitated, lowering his hand. “Well…yesterday, Valien nothing,” he said. “But after today…I guess…maybe….Valien Altare.” The name still felt odd on his tongue. He couldn’t associate it with himself.

Jasel’s eyes widened slightly. Liall stared for a moment, before rolling onto his back, carrying the book with him. “He must like you,” he muttered.

“Don’t take it personally,” said Jasel, recovering quickly and turning back towards him. “She’s always like that.”

This time, it was Valien’s turn to stare in shock. “She?” he asked.

“Got a problem with it?” asked Liall, lowering the book and glaring at him.

“Not at all,” said Valien. “I mean, I just thought, this being the Arms Departm—.” Liall’s eyes narrowed further. “—Well, I mean, you don’t look very fem—Your clothes don’t exactly—uh…”

Liall sighed. “Word of advice,” she said. “Quit while you’re ahead.” She put the book aside, rolling onto her back and jumping up onto her feet. “It’s Liall Maranis, by the way.” She picked up the sword, sliding it back into her belt loops before turning towards Jasel. “I’m starving. Where’s Can?”

“He’ll meet us at dinner,” said Jasel. “Speaking of which, we should be heading to that now, if you’re ready, Valien.”

Valien glanced at the bed behind him. It felt odd leaving his things here, but he couldn’t lug them everywhere. “Yeah,” he said. “I’m ready.”

“Keys,” said Liall, pointing. “In the top drawer of the desk. Don’t lose them, or Master Samran’ll have your head.”

“Ah, thanks,” said Valien, rushing over to the desk and grabbing the key in the top drawer. Jasel waited for him to finish, before the three of them left the room, locking it behind them. Valien followed them as they walked down the staircase, heading towards the dining hall.

“So, where are you from?” asked Jasel.

“Azimor,” replied Valien as they walked.

Liall frowned. “In the south, isn’t it? That’s a long way away.”

“Kind of,” said Valien. He changed the topic, uncomfortable with the scrutiny. “You two?”

“Hartswood,” said Liall. “Little settlement, not too far from here.”

“I grew up in the Capital,” said Jasel.

“Capital?” asked Valien.

Liall smirked. “You’re talking to our resident nobleman here,” she said, a mocking tone in her voice. “Lord Jasel Esire II, heir to House Esire, member of the esteemed order of the stable cleaners—.”

“Oh, shush,” said Jasel, rolling his eyes. He turned towards Valien. “My family is minor nobility. We don’t do much, unless the Lords’ Council is in session. Ignore her.”

Considering that this was the closest he had ever been to nobility, he didn’t see the distinction, but he nodded once to avoid offending his new classmate. The three of them entered the dining hall.

Can turned out to be a tall, dark-haired apprentice named Cantiel Geir, who spent the first part of the meal after the introductions discussing their upcoming stable cleanup duty with Jasel. It sounded as if the pair had been late to riding practice, and had been assigned that as punishment. Cantiel had a serious, honest sort of look about him. Valien had been trained to be generally distrustful of people, but he found himself growing to like Cantiel, and all of them really. He ate quickly, because of the life he had grown up with, and spent most of the meal listening to the conversation and asking questions where possible.

That night, he lay awake, listening to his companion’s soft breathing. Cantiel snored in his sleep, as did Liall, although hers was a softer, more feminine breathing. He could hardly hear Jasel at all. It was hard to believe that a week ago he had been lying on an old blanket considering Samran’s offer. He sighed, grabbing his blanket in one hand and pulling it over him as he rolled over, closing his eyes and drifting off to sleep.
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CHAPTER 2: The Student in the Shadow

“No! Valien, keep your sword up! Don’t let her get close to you!”

Master Samran’s voice rang out sharply through the training ground. Valien grit his teeth and raised his sword, breathing heavily. Liall stepped forward, her wooden sword moving in an arc through the air as it bore down on him, clashing with his. The shock of impact traveled up his arm, and he stumbled back, quickly raising his blade in a block as Liall stepped closer to him, her brown eyes narrowed as her blade clashed against his again. He was better prepared this time, and managed to keep his stance as he blocked her.

“Liall!” called Samran. “You’re faster than him. Use it!”

Liall scowled, stepping back and thrusting forward rapidly. Valien quickly stepped back, his own sword falling over hers and pushing it away. She rushed forward, slashing her sword quickly in front of him and Valien stepped back, his eyes widening as she swatted away her sword with his, the tip of her sword pointing at his neck. He froze.

“Alright, that’s enough for now,” said Samran, getting up from where he had been seated. He took a step towards the two of them. “Lower your weapons.”

Liall stepped back, lowering her sword. Valien lowered his as well, turning away from her. The two of them both looked like a mess—their practice clothes sweat-soaked and their hair plastered to the sides of their faces. Samran stared down at the two of them, and Valien braced himself for the verbal tongue-lashing that was about to occur.

“Valien. Keep spacing out like that, and you’ll be a dead man before you know it. If you can’t keep up with her speed, quit wasting time. Find some other way to get the upper hand.” He glanced at Liall, frowning. “You keep on them and don’t let up,” he said. “You’ve got a lot of talent but not a lot of strength. You can’t afford to give them anything, even just a little.”

“Yes, Master,” said Liall, lowering her head. Valien did the same, mumbling “Yes, Master,” under his breath. His face burned, but he did his best to not allow Samran to see.

“Get dressed,” said Samran. “Head to your classes. Think about what I’ve said, and we’ll pick up tomorrow.”

He walked past them, moving across the lawn and towards the library. Liall raised her head, walking off ahead of him. Valien slowly followed, a pensive frown on his face. Jasel and Cantiel were seated at the steps. They bore the signs of fresh exercise, but had rested while Liall and Valien had had their bout, and were fresher than the two of them were. They got to their feet as the other two reached them, somewhat reluctantly. He saw Cantiel rub his leg and wince.

“You’re getting better,” said Jasel, noticing the look on his face.

“Not fast enough,” grumbled Valien. It had been two months since he had arrived at the Academy. In those two months, his swordsmanship had improved, but he was still somewhat behind the others in form. It grated on him, especially considering he was the only one out of all of them that had had actual experience in a fight. Master Samran wasn’t looking for experience, though. He wanted technique, and apparently breaking Valien of bad habits was more arduous than developing good ones in the others.

“You actually kept your sword this time,” noted Cantiel with a slight smile, patting Valien on the back.

“I was getting there,” said Liall, resting the flat of her wooden sword against her shoulders.

Valien rolled his eyes at her, but said nothing. He was willing to accept that Liall was his better at swordsmanship, as long as he could continue to best her in hand-to-hand.

“Anyway, baths, I think,” said Jasel.

You think? Valien wanted to ask. We do the same thing every day. He was starting to learn, though, that the question was simply Jasel’s polite way of telling them to get a move on. Valien nodded, stepping forward and placing his practice sword on the rack at the entrance to the training courtyard. Liall did the same. Jasel and Cantiel were already swordless, and the four of them walked into the building, moving up the stairs towards the large room they shared. Along the way, they passed students in their white uniforms, none of whom bothered to stop and talk to them.

“Liall, I might have to practice with you later,” said Cantiel, rubbing his wrist. “Master Samran says I’m too stiff. You’re more fluid.”

“Get in line,” said Liall, lacing her fingers together at the back of her head. “I’ve got reading to do for history, and then prince-y over here is helping me with arithmetic in exchange for a few rounds around the courtyard.”

“Have Valien practice with you,” suggested Jasel. “You can help him with his stance, and he can help you move smoother.”

Valien frowned, staring down at the ground as they walked. “Sorry,” he said, not looking up to face Cantiel. “I don’t think I’ll be able to help. My movements are a little jerky too.”

Cantiel sighed. “Ah, well, don’t worry about it,” he said. “I had a little reading to do as well.”

“Speaking of class,” said Liall, turning towards them. “What was up with Professor Raes yesterday?”

“You know, I thought he seemed more distracted than usual,” said Jasel, turning towards her. “Long day, probably?”

Valien frowned, thinking back to the class in question. It had been literature, a boring class for him by any means. The teacher, Professor Raes, was normally a scatter-brained man. He wouldn’t have lasted a day in Azimor. The other day, though, he had seemed a little more distracted than usual. His mannerisms had been mechanical, his movements jerky when his attention was called. It was almost as if although his body was present, his mind wasn’t at all focused on the task at hand.

“Seemed like he had a lot on his mind,” said Valien after thinking about it.

“Probably did,” said Cantiel, frowning as he considered it. “He’s old enough. Family issues?”

“Whatever it is, it isn’t our business,” said Jasel.

Valien shrugged, but didn’t argue with him. Privately, he didn’t see anything wrong with observing the people around him. Nothing but trouble resulted from not paying close enough attention to the details. He had learned that the hard way before.

They stopped at the top of the stairs. Liall broke away from the group, heading towards the smaller washroom designated for her use. “See you in a bit,” she said.

“Don’t take too long,” teased Jasel as she walked away.

Liall’s response was to raise her hand and give him a rude gesture, not even looking. Jasel sighed, the three of them turning towards the larger bathroom. Valien snickered. He liked all of his fellow apprentices, maybe enough to call him friends, but out of all of them, Liall was probably the one that he could most relate to. And he liked her well enough, when she wasn’t disarming him on the practice field.

“I pity the man she marries,” said Jasel as the three of them stepped into the bathroom, shutting the door behind them.

“Liall?” asked Valien, tugging his practice shirt over his head. He tossed it into the basket of soiled clothes that stood in the corner of the room. “That’ll be the day.”

An hour later, the three of them were seated in the dining hall, the noise from the large crowd of students in the area nearly drowning out the conversation. The students overwhelmingly wore the white uniforms, although there was a small smattering of black uniforms scattered around, apprentices to other Masters. Like Valien and the others, they tended to keep to themselves, books open in front of them next to their plates and mouths moving as they discussed their Masters’ work.

Valien bit his lip, staring down at the page in front of him. His pen moved haltingly across the paper, painstakingly slow as he copied the set of small words Jasel had laid out for him. The penmanship lessons had been Jasel’s idea, after a professor had taken off points for Valien’s own handwriting being near illegible. The nobleman had perfect handwriting, and had formulated a plan to teach Valien the same way he had been taught. He had already finished eating, his plates stacked to his left as he wrote.

Across from him, Liall nibbled on a loaf of bread, her attention firmly focused on the book beside her. Jasel and Cantiel were engaged in a game of chess over Jasel’s small wooden chess set. Valien glanced over at them occasionally. His first week here, Jasel had taught him the game, and he had taken to it well. It required patience, and Valien had developed patience in spades in his previous life as a thief. Cantiel was attacking constantly, taking Jasel’s pieces occasionally, but the nobleman was calm, and Valien could see that he was in control of the game, although Cantiel didn’t know it.

The only sounds that hung over their table were the scratching of Valien’s pen against paper, the occasional turning of Liall’s page, and the scraping sounds and thuds of chess pieces being moved around the table. Occasionally, Cantiel or Jasel would mutter “check” or “your move” under their breath, but for the most part, it was quiet, a bubble of silence in a sea of noise. The effect was almost hypnotic, and Valien found himself spacing out, thinking back to his earlier struggles. His hand twitched as he remembered the way Liall had bested him, a line of ink messing up his carefully constructed letters. He muttered a curse under his breath and reached for sand, throwing it over the mistake.

Master Samran had brought him here to be his apprentice, he decided as he rubbed sand over the misdrawn line. He wouldn’t let Samran down. Jasel had commented before that he could write. His penmanship was just bad. Maybe the same thing applied to his swordsmanship. He could fight, just not the right way. He saw his bad habits then as misdrawn lines. He would rub them all out with sand somehow, even if he had to start from the very beginning.

A bell rang overhead and the four of them looked up, silently putting away their individual works and moving towards their lectures.

#

Dusk found him standing in the center of the training courtyard, his wooden practice blade in his hands. He had stripped out of his uniform’s dark overcoat, leaving himself in his white undershirt and pants. Sweat poured unabatedly down the side of his face, and his black hair, longer now, clung uncomfortably to the back of his neck. It was a cool fall evening, but the exertion had made him warm, the mixture of cold air and heat causing goosebumps to appear on his skin.

He had been there since lectures had let out an hour ago, going through the basic strikes and blocks that Samran had told them to practice on the first day. As he went through the motions, his mind conjured up imaginary opponents to face him. Sometimes it was Jasel, whose form was much better than any of theirs but whose strikes lacked power. Sometimes, it was Cantiel, who hit hard and hit fast, but who left multiple openings constantly. Sometimes, it was Liall, quick as a whip and dangerously talented, but with technique that belied her fragility. And sometimes his opponents were shadows from his past, nameless ghosts he had left in Azimor’s alleys.

The sun sank down overhead, the tall, thin form of the Academy’s Spire casting a shadow over the courtyard. It would be dinner in about an hour, and the others would probably start looking for him. Reluctantly, he lowered his sword. He wasn’t anywhere close to satisfied with his progress, but his arms, shoulders, and wrists burned, and he would still have to train tomorrow. He wiped sweat off his forehead with his arm, taking a deep breath as he walked over to where he had left his water and a washcloth. He picked up the canteen of water, taking a long swig before upending the canteen on his head. Cool water splashed against his skin, washing away the sweat and refreshing him. He picked up the washcloth, wiping some of the water off of his face and crouching down to pick up his things.

Valien froze. In that instant, he knew he wasn’t alone.

He couldn’t say what tipped him off. There was no sound, no sight, no smell that told him that there was someone with him. It was just a sudden feeling of unease that struck him in one moment. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end, his stomach churning and a shiver running up his spine. He felt the sudden sensation of being watched. It was a visceral response, an unexplainable gut instinct, but Valien had learned to listen to his instincts.

He looked up.

A shadow moved across the courtyard.

It was vaguely man-shaped, but there was no man in the courtyard with him. As Valien turned to track it with his eyes, he saw it move, running across the courtyard grounds and into the garden that surrounded the Spire’s base.

Without thinking, he picked up his sheathed metal sword, running off after it. The shadow stayed a step ahead of him always, although it seemed to be running at full speed, moving through the grove of trees. Valien followed it, energized suddenly by the chase. His heart beat quickly in his chest, and he ran through the grove. Once he stumbled on a tree root and cut his hand as he slammed it on the tree next to him, keeping himself upright, but still he kept on. There was no sight of the man that made the shadow, but Valien knew that he had to be head somewhere, just out of sight.

The shadow rushed out of the grove and vanished.

Valien burst out of the line of trees, taking deep gasping breaths as he looked around. There was no sign of the shadow. The grove opened up into a circular lawn, the long dark tower of the Spire rising up directly ahead of him. There was no entrance to the tower, he knew. The entrance had been bricked away long ago, after accidents had caused the Academy’s elders to deem the Spire’s interior structurally unsound. Windows still looked out over the school from the heights as a monument, one of the few buildings that still stood from the time of the Old Kingdom. He had learned all this in his history class, when they discussed the founding of the Academy.

He gave the Spire only a passing glance, his eyes moving downwards.

Valien’s eyes widened.

A student stood at the foot of the tower, a metal sword in his hand. He was dressed in the white uniform of the Academy’s ordinary students. His hair was a deep auburn color, and his eyes were narrowed in concentration. His uniform was disheveled, as though he had been training a while, but he didn’t look nearly as worn out as Valien did. His sword moved through the air in several complicated cuts, the setting sun’s light glancing off of it. Valien stared. He was good. There was obvious skill in his movements. He was better than Liall or any of his fellow apprentices. He wasn’t as good as Master Samran—what little Valien had seen—but that went without saying.

The student paused in his work, lowering his sword and turning towards him. Valien instinctively shrank back from being caught. There was nowhere to hide, though. He had already been spotted. The student’s eyes took in the sheathed sword in Valien’s hand, his disheveled state, and the dark uniform pants that he was wearing.

“You’re one of Master Samran’s apprentices, aren’t you?” he asked. “Come closer. I don’t bite.”

Valien realized at that moment that he was shrinking back like a scared animal, ready to bolt. He straightened up, embarrassed, and walked over to the student. He kept his posture relaxed, his sword held almost casually in his right hand. The student was older and taller than he was. He looked about seventeen or eighteen years old, ready to graduate.

“What’s your name?” asked the student.

“Valien,” he replied. “Yours?”

“Aennan,” said the student, grinning slightly. “Aennan Nistan. I’ve heard about you. You’re the boy the Master gave his name to. Valien Altare.”

Valien shifted position, slightly uncomfortable. “He needed to do that so I could enroll,” he said.

“From what I hear, he has a soft spot for you,” said Aennan. He frowned, tilting his head slightly and looking Valien over. “He have you doing drills this late?”

Valien shook his head. “I just wanted to get some practice in,” said Valien.

“You’re only two months into your first year,” said Aennan, smiling slightly at him. He rested a hand on his waist. “I know you’ve got a lot of pressure on you, but you can take a break, you know.”

“Well, I’m kind of behind,” admitted Valien, scratching the back of his head.

“Behind, are you?” asked Aennan. He frowned, taking a step back and looking Valien over. “Alright,” he said. “Show me. Let me see whether or not I can help you with that.”

Valien frowned, but nodded, his mind going back to Aennan's display of skill. He unsheathed his sword uncertainly, holding it in the ready position. Aennan stepped to the side, gesturing for him to continue. Valien took a deep breath, and went through the basic strikes he had been doing earlier. It was more difficult with a metal sword, and it showed. The sword’s momentum carried him further, and he nearly fell over one time. After Aennan's display, he looked slow and clumsy, and his face burned.

“Alright, stop, stop,” said Aennan, and Valien froze in place, ashamed. The older student stepped forward, frowning as he looked over Valien’s stance. “I see your problem,” he said, nudging Valien’s legs apart. “You’re unstable.” He reached over, repositioning his hands. “And it’s a sword, not a club. You’re used to bludgeons and light weapons, aren’t you?”

“Kind of…” admitted Valien.

“Okay then,” said Aennan. “This shouldn’t be too much of a problem. Do you have some time until dinner?”

“Yeah…” said Valien. He frowned, looking around. “But I was actually going to ask you if you’ve seen—.” He froze, suddenly realizing how stupid it sounded. Have you seen a disembodied shadow running around recently?

“Seen…?” prompted Aennan.

“Never mind,” said Valien, shaking his head. “I have time.”

“Good.” Aennan grinned. “Then let’s start from the beginning.” He reached forward, repositioning Valien’s hands again. “Slash down. Slowly. Like this.”

Valien took a deep breath and raised the sword over his head, slashing it downward once.
Edited by Chizu, Mar 12 2012, 07:37 PM.
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If you actually took the time to read all that, thanks! Comments are appreciated.
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CHAPTER 3: The Man in the Town

“Master Samran complimented me on my form today,” said Valien from his seat on the grass beneath the Spire. He caught the flask of water that Aennan threw at him, uncorking it and taking a long sip. The water was cold, but then again, winter had already started. Clouds gathered on the horizon, and the air seemed to hum with the anticipation of an impending snowfall. It would be the first snow of the season, if that happened. Snow was rare in Azimor, but the Academy and the town of Antir Sevail were much further north.

“Did he?” asked Aennan, settling down beside him. “What did he say?”

“That I no longer look like a child with a stick,” replied Valien. He took another sip and stopped, setting the flask down. It was too cold for more.

Aennan dropped down next to him. The two of them sat with their backs to the Spire, the tower protecting them from the cold wind. It had been about a month since he and Aennan had started training together. In that time, Valien found that he liked the older student. Aennan was good company, quick with a joke or a word of encouragement. He wasn’t an easy teacher, and wasn’t afraid to point out when Valien was doing something wrong, but he had a knack for making Valien want to keep on working. Overall, Valien respected him.

“It’s progress,” said Aennan with a tired grin. He picked up his own flask, bringing it to his lips. The older student grimaced, setting the water down. “Man,” he said. “That’s cold.”

“Yeah,” said Valien, drawing his knees up closer to himself. He stared down across the space in front of him at his sword, a frown appearing on his face. There was something odd with the way the light reflected on the blade. He leaned forward, careful not to brush up against the metal blade. Although it was a relatively low-quality practice sword, it could still cut. He grabbed it by the hilt, lifting it up to inspect it.

“What’s up?” asked Aennan, leaning over to look at him.

In response, Valien turned the blade to the side. The afternoon sun shone on it, reflecting against a small crack along the middle of the blade. Aennan frowned, taking the sword from him and running his thumb lightly along the flat of the blade where the crack was.

“Yeah…” said Aennan. “That’ll cost you. The Master’ll probably take it out of your allowance.” He frowned, cupping his chin for a moment as he studied the blade. After a while, he handed it back to Valien, tapping him on the knee. “Alright, come on,” he said. “There’s a blacksmith in town that owes me a couple of favors. We can probably get him to give you a discounted price.”

“Town?” asked Valien as Aennan got to his feet. “Now?”

“Yeah, why not?” asked Aennan, raising his arms over his head in a stretch. “We’ve got a couple of hours till your curfew. You let that go until tomorrow, it might snap completely during practice.” He extended an arm towards Valien. Valien took it, helping himself to his feet.

“Wait, what do you mean my curfew?” he asked.

“It gets dropped when you get old enough to drink,” said Aennan with a sly grin. “Little upperclassman secret. Come on, let’s get moving.”

“How does a blacksmith owe you favors?” asked Valien as the two of them passed through the Academy gates, making sure to display the emblem that marked them as students of the Academy on the way out. Valien had been into town many times with the others since coming here. They usually got the seventh day of the week off, and spent it wandering the city. It still surprised him sometimes how orderly everything was. He knew that Antir Sevail had a dark side—every city did, but this city’s dark side seemed a little less pronounced than what he was used to.

Or maybe he was just looking at it from the other side of the window now. The thought unsettled him, and he put it out of his mind, thrusting his hands into his pocket and making sure that what was left of his allowance was in it as he listened to Aennan talk.

“Art has a bad leg,” said Aennan. “It makes him easy pickings for thieves, since he can’t move very fast. I chase off people that give him trouble once in a while, and he fixes my sword for free.”

Valien nodded in understanding. “Good arrangement,” he said.

“It works out,” said Aennan in reply. “Once you get a real sword, you won’t have to worry about it too much.”

The two of them fell silent for a moment, walking through the winding streets of the city. The main street of the city was crowded at this time, with people beginning to walk back from work and shops just starting to pack up and close for the day. People brushed past him on all sides, and Valien walked close to Aennan, suddenly wishing that they could be closer to the buildings or to the alleys. He knew, of course, that he was just being stupid. He could foil most common pickpockets, and unlike in Azimor, the guards of Antir Sevail were out in force. He spotted men in the kingdom’s blue and gold on almost every street corner—watching the passersby and occasionally chatting with each other and with the citizens. It had taken him weeks to get used to their presence, more to suppress the instinct to shrink away when their eyes landed on him.

All in all, though, it seemed like a peaceful day. He couldn’t understand why he suddenly felt uneasy, although he had walked this path before.

A man fell screaming onto the street in front of them, effectively shattering the illusion of calm. . Valien’s eyes widened in shock, and he stepped back. The crowd instinctively parted, gasps and murmurs ringing out as they cleared the street and formed a ring of spectators around the event. Two guards stood on either side of the fallen man, pushing him against the street and attempting to bind his wrists to his back as the man struggled and thrashed wildly.

“No!” shouted the man. “No! I’m innocent! Innocent! God damn you! I didn’t write anything! Don’t let them take me!”

Above the struggling man, a third guard was calmly reading from a piece of paper, his voice projected to carry through the crowd. “Thyfer Riell,” he read. “You are hereby under as an accessory to treason based on reports of alleged support of treasonous entities and alleged distribution of treasonous propaganda. By order of His Majesty, and the Lord of Antir Sevail, you are to be tried in the King’s Court, two days hence.” He folded the piece of paper, rolling it up and slipping it back in his sleeve. The crowd around Valien thinned, the smart ones slipping away into the street. The stupid and the curious averted their eyes, whispering to themselves.

“Restrain him,” ordered the guard who had finished reading the paper.

“No!” shrieked a female voice.

A woman launched herself out of the house, running towards the man. Two guards standing by the door of the nearby house restrained her, grabbing her by the arms. She kicked and thrashed wildly, tears streaming down her cheeks. “My husband is innocent!” she yelled. “Someone help! He’s innocent!”

Her appearance startled Valien out of his daze. He stumbled back, his hand instinctively patting down his side where he used to keep his knife. Finding that it wasn’t there, it landed on his sword. He suddenly realized what was wrong. There were too many guards in town, even for Antir Sevail. He turned towards Aennan, about to tell him to run, when he realized something was wrong.

Aennan wasn’t moving.

“Harra?” asked the man on the ground, looking up. “Harra, get back inside!”

“Aennan,” hissed Valien, stepping closer towards him and tugging on his friend’s sleeve. “Aennan, we should go…”

Aennan swatted Valien’s hand away, not turning to face him. Valien looked up at his friend. Aennan’s eyes were narrow, the muscles in his arms and shoulders taut. His fists were clenched at his side, his lips drawn in a fine line.

The man on the ground continued to struggle. One of the guards struck him. He groaned, falling over on his side. The two guards grabbed his arms, pulling them close together and allowing them to bind his wrists. He continued to proclaim his innocence under his breath. His wife continued to wail. The guard raised his cudgel, aiming to strike the man again.

And Aennan moved.

“Hey!” shouted Aennan, grabbing the guard’s arm from behind and stopping him. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Stay out of this!” growled the guard. The guard whipped around, his foot landing squarely in Aennan’s gut and pushing him back. Aennan fell back with an ‘oof’, the wind knocked out of him by the blow. He landed on the ground at Valien’s feet, breathing heavily. As Valien watched in alarm, frozen by the sight, Aennan placed a hand on the hilt of his sword, drawing it partway out of its sheath.

Two out of three of the guards now surrounding the mostly compliant man stepped out in front of him, their hands on their own blades. “Try it, boy,” one of them said. “We dare you. Try it, and you’ll be sharing a cell with him.”

Aennan’s grip tightened on the hilt of his sword, and for one terrifying, tense moment, Valien thought that he was actually going to try it. But then he exhaled slowly through his teeth, slamming the sword back into its sheath and lowering his hands. He raised them up slowly to show that they were empty, staring at the ground at the guards’ feet. Valien immediately moved over and tugged on his elbow, helping him up.

The guards lowered their hands, nodding once at him. “Good choice.”

One of the guards turned towards Valien. “You. Apprentice,” he said. “See that your friend stays out of trouble.”

They drew Thyfer Riell to his feet, turning him around. One of the guards shoved him roughly in the back, the crowd parting to allow them to walk away. Once he was far enough away, the guards holding his wife released her, and she crumpled to the ground, sobbing. Around the two of them, the crowd began to disperse, slowly going back to their usual rhythm, as if nothing had happened.

Aennan didn’t move. Valien looked at him, noticing that he was shaking. He had lowered his hands to his side, their fists clenched again. His eyes looked out from underneath a curtain of auburn hair, watching the guards go.

They were filled with hatred.

#

Aennan’s fist slammed into wooden plank propped up against the wall of the alley, accompanied by the sound of splintering wood as the plank buckled and snapped. He propped himself up against the wall, breathing hard as the wood fell to the ground, his hand bleeding. Valien stood back and watched, a concerned frown on his face. The two of them stood in an alley off the main road, tucked between a pair of houses.

It was the first sign of emotion Aennan had showed since the incident.

“Aennan…” began Valien.

“I hate them!” declared Aennan, straightening up. There was a banner hanging from the alley wall—the Kingdom’s twisting gold ring on a blue field shining brightly up at them. Aennan’s sword came free from its sheath, the blade slicing neatly across before Valien could even react. The lower half of the banner came free, the ring slashed in two as the other half of the banner settled to the ground. His sword returned to its sheath with a metallic ringing sound, the hilt slamming against the ring of metal at the sheath’s opening.

Dust rose up in the fallen banner’s wake. Valien stared.

“I hate them all…” said Aennan. “The Kingdom…the King…the nobles…all of them.”

He was staring straight ahead of him, his side turned towards Valien. Valien felt something coil in the pit of his stomach, something leaden. His skin crawled, warning him of the danger.

For one moment, Valien was terrified of Aennan.

“I’ll destroy it someday…” said Aennan. “With these hands. Just watch me, Valien.”
Valien clenched his fists, clamping down on the urge to bolt. This was Aennan—Aennan his friend and mentor who had helped him with his sword work. Aennan was not the enemy. But for that one moment, Valien didn’t know him anymore.

“…What are you saying?” he asked, quietly.

The question made Aennan pause as he was walking away. He frowned, considering it for a moment, before shaking his head. A bit of the seriousness left his face, the old Aennan returning to him. But there was something in his eyes as he watched Valien. Disappointment? Valien wasn’t sure, but after what he had seen earlier, any sort of look in Aennan’s eye made his stomach churn. “You’re right,” said Aennan, a small smile appearing on his face. “What am I saying?”

“Forget I said anything,” he said. “Let’s just go get your sword fixed before we run into any trouble. We might be late for dinner, so I’ll treat you to something on the way out.”

Aennan walked forward, away from the alley. Valien hesitated, then took a deep breath, following him. The moment was passed, and for a moment, Valien wondered if he had only imagined it, but the feeling of unease would not go away.

Behind them, the remains of the banner lay in the dirt, the severed portion of the golden ring gleaming in the sunlight.
Edited by Chizu, Mar 13 2012, 07:12 PM.
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CHAPTER 4: Sword and Star

It was dark by the time Valien made it back to the dormitory.

He opened the door to the bedroom, tired. He had managed to hide his discomfort from Aennan fairly well, but something had changed between the two of them that night. Their conversation had seemed scripted and faked, the whole time that his sword was being repaired and throughout the dinner that Aennan had treated him to. The food that they had bought sat like a lead weight in his stomach. It had been good food, and Valien had never been one to turn a free meal down, but the whole thing stank of bribery.

Or maybe he was just reading too much into it. After all, Aennan’s reaction came after an extremely emotional event. And hadn’t Aennan done things for him before then? Maybe the dinner was truly just the gesture of a friend.

He hated this, having to second-guess his friends. And for a moment, he hated himself, hated the nature he was born with. The nature to suspect.

The bedroom was almost empty when he walked in, but he knew immediately that there was at least one other person there, because the lamps had been lit. Jasel looked up from his desk as Valien entered the room. Valien glanced once at him and glanced away, shrugging out of his heavy winter coat and hanging it up on a peg. He busied himself with unlacing his boots and putting them away. He didn’t want to talk to Jasel now, not with Aennan’s words still ringing in his head.

“I hate them all. The Kingdom…the King…the nobles…all of them.”

He didn’t want to start suspecting Jasel too.

“You’re in late,” commented Jasel. “You missed dinner.”

“I ate,” said Valien, putting his boots neatly by his bed. He unbuckled his sword belt and hung it up, his hand lingering on the sword for a moment. He drew it, inspecting the blade. In the lamplight, it looked good as new. Valien sighed and sheathed it, setting it aside.

“Liall and Cantiel?” he asked, scanning the shelf over his bed for the textbook he needed and trying to look busy.

“Off in the library,” replied Jasel. “Liall dragged Cantiel with her because, and I quote, he’s tall enough to reach the books she needs.”

He managed a chuckle, reaching for his history textbook and pulling it off the shelf with practiced slowness. “Sounds just like her,” he said.

“She smuggled some bread out for you,” said Jasel. “We guessed you were out training with Aennan.”

“Yeah…” said Valien, slowly. He placed the book on his bed. “My sword cracked. Aennan brought me into town to have it fixed.”

“Did he?” asked Jasel. “That was nice of him.”

“Yeah…” said Valien again, staring down at his sword. Images flashed through his mind again—Thyfer Riell on the ground, Aennan standing with his back to him, his wife sobbing, Aennan rushing forward, the banner on the ground, the look in Aennan’s eye.“Yeah…it was.”

“…Valien?”

Valien said nothing, not turning around. He heard the scraping of Jasel’s chair against the wooden floor as the nobleman got up.

“Valien?” he repeated. “Something happened in town, didn’t it?”

Valien managed a smile, turning around towards Jasel so that his friend could see it. “No,” he said. “What makes you say that?”

“Oh, come on,” said Jasel, stepping forward. “I’m not as street smart as you, but I’m not stupid. I know that the only people that don’t look you in the eye are the ones with something to hide.”

At that, Valien guiltily raised his head, meeting Jasel’s eyes. The nobleman stared back at him, his bearing imperious. For a moment, Valien felt a hot flash of anger. Aennan was right. How dare Jasel look down on him like that? As soon as the moment passed, he felt guilty for it. How dare he push this onto Jasel? Jasel couldn’t help that he was raised to act like he was better than everybody. For a nobleman, he did a damn good job of not lording his status over them. He had never once indicated that he thought any of the three of them were less than he was. For someone of his status, this place was probably a dump, and Valien had never heard him complain.

He’s better than I am…Valien realized, the thought striking him cold. It wasn’t because Jasel was a nobleman. It was because Jasel was Jasel.

“Come on, Valien,” said Jasel. “We’re friends. You can tell me.”

Could he? Aennan’s words still rang in his mind. Despite everything, Jasel was noble. Would he be betraying Aennan by telling Jasel?

The moment he thought it, he realized it was stupid. Jasel was his friend. Jasel had been his friend since the beginning. Nobleman or not, Jasel certainly had more claim to his honesty than Aennan did. And Jasel wouldn’t tell anyone. Valien knew it. Honor was something that Jasel actually took seriously.

So Valien took a deep breath and told Jasel everything. He told about Thyfer Riell, about how the guards had mistreated him. He told Jasel about Aennan’s reaction, the look in his eye, and the words he spoke denouncing the kingdom. He left out his own fear, and how he had just froze. He didn’t feel like anyone needed to know anything about that.

When it was over, the two of them were sitting on the floor, across from each other. Jasel stared at Valien for a few moments, a stern look on his face. Then, he sighed.

“You won’t listen to me if I tell you not to hang around Aennan any more, will you?” he asked.

“What do you mean?” asked Valien, surprised. “I know the things he said were a little harsh, but he was just angry.”

“Trust me on this,” said Jasel. “If that’s how he really feels, words like that will get him into trouble someday, and everyone around him with him.”

“How can you be so sure?” asked Valien. “They’re just words. It’s not like he’s out to kill the King this minute.”

Jasel sighed, staring down at the ground in front of him. He fiddled with the laces on his boots for a moment, a contemplative frown on his face. Valien waited, knowing that he was working out what to say. Finally, Jasel spoke.

“Have you heard about Orsell Garrison?” he asked.

Valien shook his head in reply.

“It was a garrison about ten miles west of the Capital,” said Jasel. “A large number of soldiers were stated there. About ten years ago, there was a fire in the Garrison. Hundreds of men died. All the evidence pointed to a single group, a rebel organization named the Hand of Estal. You won’t hear their name mentioned out in the streets, except maybe in whispers, but the Kingdom has known about them for a long time.”

“Garrison was just the last of a string of attacks. Ship sinking, piracy, caravan raids, whatever you can think of, they’ve done it…The Hand members are criminal, and they will stop at nothing to gain power. They claim to want the best interests of the people, but they have hurt the people more than they have hurt the Kingdom in the years that they’ve been active. The king’s court panicked, and several members of the Hand were caught and executed. Many more escaped. The Hand is still active today. We occasionally hear reports about them.”

“The Hand’s philosophy runs along the same lines as what your friend Aennan said today. Things like this make people nervous. If Aennan actually acts on his words, the Kingdom will look back at his life, at the people that he’s been in contact with. And if you stay in contact with him, they’re going to eventually look at you.”

He looked up, meeting Valien’s eyes. “…I’m guessing that you have stuff to hide too,” he said.

Valien said nothing, a frown on his face. He didn’t deny it. He knew how bad it would look if the Kingdom investigated him. He had been a thief his whole life. He had never been a murderer, but he would be the first to admit that there were times when he had considered it. Master Samran hadn’t told anyone of his past, but he knew his friends well enough to know that they probably had guessed.

Could it be true? Would Aennan go on to join a group as violent as the Hand of Estal? Before today, he wouldn’t have imagined it. After today…

“Jasel, how do you know all this?” asked Valien, not looking up. “This stuff about the Hand. You just said that the Kingdom doesn’t talk about it.”

Jasel’s eyes darkened, and for a moment, Valien wished he hadn’t said anything. But Jasel didn’t rage, and there was no hatred in his eyes. Instead, there was something else, an icy edge that he had only seen in the nobleman’s eyes once before. One time, when he had received a letter from his father. Then, Jasel sighed, his shoulders slumping.

“I guess I owe you a little honesty, considering you trusted me with this,” said Jasel. “I just hope you won’t hate me after you hear what I have to say. I told you my family was minor nobility, but I didn’t tell you the whole truth of it. House Esire upholds the law.”

Valien frowned at Jasel. “All noble houses are supposed to uphold the law, Jasel,” he said. “We went over this in history.”

Jasel waved a hand dismissively. “I’m not talking about a code of honor,” he said. “I’m talking about a duty.” He looked up at Valien, fixing him with his eyes again, those green eyes that saw too much. “…Our house emblem is the sword and star.”

Valien tensed, immediately understanding. He felt his blood turn to ice in his veins, his eyes widening. He had seen the sword and star banner before. Every child of the streets had seen it at least once. It was a banner that people publicly averted their eyes from and privately cursed. Images flashed through his mind again, different images from his time in Azimor. Images of the gallows, and a hooded executioner. Images of a stern judge, and the black banner hanging over the constructed arena—a silver sword, pointing downwards, superimposed on an eight-pointed star.

“You…” he began when he found his voice.

Jasel exhaled slowly. “That’s the lot I was born with,” he said, pushing off on the ground and getting to his feet. “The golden sun on blue of the Kingdom—the judge. The white crescent moon on violet of the King’s Court—the jury. And the silver sword and star on black of House Esire…”

His sword came free of its sheath with a ringing sound. Jasel held the sword in both hands, the lamplight gleaming off the edge of the blade. And it chilled him, because he understood.

Jasel had near-perfect form.

“…the executioner,” finished Jasel. He sheathed his sword, a scowl on his face as if drawing it had somehow left a bad taste in his mouth. “Of course,” he said. “The Lord of the House only signs the order and witnesses the deed. It’s not his job to get his hands dirty. Most of the time.”

He said it with a vehemence that surprised him. But Valien found that he wasn’t scared of Jasel. He understood. He knew what it was like, to be forced to do things, to believe things that he hated, because it was the only way to survive. And for Jasel, it was, because how was a noble child to survive if he was disowned? He suddenly had no fear that Jasel would tell his family about Aennan. He didn’t even have to ask the question.

“You know about my past?” asked Valien instead. It was off-topic, but he felt it needed to be said.

“I can piece together a few things,” said Jasel. “A boy growing up in Azimor with no family? There’s only a few routes a person like that can take.”

“And you still call me a friend?”

“I don’t see any reason not to,” said Jasel. “You, Liall, and Cantiel…in four months, you’ve been more family to me than my family has been. We can’t help where we start. The better question is, considering where you grew up and what you’ve seen, can you still call me a friend?”

“We can’t help where we start,” Valien echoed.

Jasel glanced back at him, then nodded once, seeming to relax somewhat.

“Why did you become Samran’s apprentice?” asked Valien.

“He came to my family,” said Jasel. “He saw me. He offered. I accepted. Anyway, it’s not important. Just think about what I said, and be careful. I’m not going to tell you to stop meeting him altogether, but watch what he tells you, and watch what you say in return. If he says more, I suggest you leave. I don’t want to see your friend Aennan on the executioner’s list, but I’d rather see him and him alone than him and you.”

Jasel walked back to his desk, and Valien sensed the conversation was over. He decided against trying to prolong it. Valien got to his feet and walked over to his own desk, setting his history book on it and beginning the reading.

It was late by the time he went to bed, and even later when he finally fell asleep.
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