Free the Darkness (King's Dark Tidings Book 1) (4 page)

Rezkin nearly let out a sigh of relief but just managed to
stop himself before he broke
Rule 14 – Do not revel in success
.
That was an important one he had learned the hard way. If one became overly
satisfied or relaxed after a success, it could lead to disaster. Master Peider
quirked an eyebrow at him as though he had read Rezkin’s mind and knew he had
almost broken the
Rule
.

Rezkin sheathed his sword and then poured the water from the
bowl back into the fountain before returning it to the bench for later use. He
followed Master Peider to the main courtyard where Striker Farson was standing
over a kneeling man. The man was filthy and wearing only rags covered in blood.
Master Jaiardun stood off to one side examining a lengthy scroll.

He glanced up and asked, “Method 32?”

“No,” replied Master Peider. “He performed thirty-two
yesterday. He has not yet performed sixteen.”

“Very well,” grunted Master Jaiardun.

Master Peider turned to Rezkin and explained, “Rezkin, this
man has been found guilty of multiple crimes including robbery, rape, and
murder. He has been sentenced to death.”

Master Jaiardun rolled his eyes and huffed, “He does not
need to know all of that. Just tell him to do it and let us move on. I have
other things to be doing today.” Rezkin had to agree. Master Jaiardun was
right. He was tired, and he did not need to know all of the details. They just
needed to tell him what to do so he could be done with this task, but Master
Peider was always insistent that Rezkin possess all of the information, so he
listened carefully.

Master Peider scowled and turned back to Rezkin. “You will carry
out his sentence using Method 16. Remember, one quick thrust upward,” he
finished as he handed a thin, silver blade to the young man. Rezkin took the
blade and walked over to the criminal. He had used this blade before for
Methods 14 and 27. It was optional for several other Methods, but it was not
his blade of choice. His favorite close-range blade was a broad, slightly
curved double edged dagger with a hook catch on the back side near the hilt
that could be used to tear flesh, disembowel or simply catch and lock an
opposing blade in a fight. It was a highly versatile weapon that would have
been utterly useless for this task.

Rezkin grabbed the smelly man’s hair and jerked his head
forward.

“No! Please!” the man jerked as he cried out.

Rezkin ignored him. He pressed the tip of the stiletto into
the man’s neck. “Yes, that is correct. Right there,” stated Master Peider who
was watching closely.

“Wait!” begged the vermin at his feet. “H-How can you be so
cruel?”

Master Peider stilled his hand. “Cruel?”

“Y-yes, you talk about killing me like it’s just another
job. I am a man, damn it!” The man started struggling against his bonds but was
stilled when Rezkin pressed the blade into his flesh.

Rezkin frowned in confusion. “Master, what is
cruel
?”

Master Peider shook his head, “No, Rezkin, we are not cruel.
Cruelty is when one takes pleasure in the pain and suffering of another.”

“Ah, I see,” Rezkin said as his face relaxed. Then, he
jerked the man’s head back by the hair and spoke clearly as he looked into the terrified
man’s eyes. “Cruelty is how you felt when you raped and murdered your victims.”
He shook his head, “No, I do not feel pleasure in this. I feel nothing.”

The shivering man’s eyes widened. “No, N-“

The sound was cut off as soon as Rezkin thrust the blade
upward into the skull. The dead criminal slumped to the ground as the young man
released him. Rezkin looked at his hands and noted the lack of blood with a
satisfied nod.

“Well done. You may go for now. Be at the main hall in two
hours,” Master Peider tossed over his shoulder as he and Master Jaiardun walked
away.

Rezkin made his way back to his quarters as he pondered the
dead man’s words. Why did the man seem so offended that Rezkin would be cruel
when he, himself, had been a cruel man? He shook his head. Of course, Rezkin
had not been cruel.
Rule 37 – Separate from one’s emotions
.
 If he had felt any pleasure, it would also have been a breech of
Rule
14
, which stated that he should not revel in his success. And, breaking any
Rule
was an automatic breech of
Rule 258
to obey his masters, so
he could never break less than two
Rules
at any time. Master Jaiardun
had told him long ago that people who failed to adhere to
Rule 5 –
Master your fear
would often say or do anything to preserve their lives.
Yes,
that must be it
. He nodded to himself satisfied that he had solved the
mystery and promptly put the whole matter behind him.

It was still early, barely mid-afternoon. He had been up all
night tracking the strikers through the woods, though. A couple of hours of
sleep would be appreciated. As he entered his quarters he checked for hidden
traps and poisons. His room consisted of a small, windowless square no more
than eight feet wide and ten feet long. It contained a bed with a straw-filled
mattress and plain wooden wardrobe. There were few places to hide any
treachery, and that was how he liked it. When he was satisfied that his room
was secure, he placed his own traps and alarms. If anyone attempted to enter
his room while he was sleeping, the intruder would get a nasty surprise, and
the clanging glass and metal shards would be more than enough warning.

While Rezkin knew he was not quite a full-grown big-man, at
seventeen years of age, he was expected to always be cognizant of his
surroundings and be prepared to defend himself. The masters and strikers would
often set traps and ambushes against him. If he failed to avoid them or fend
off his foes, the results were less than desirable. The young trainee slumped
into his bed, let out a deep sigh, and sunk into blackness.

Rezkin stood patiently before his two masters with the
fifteen strikers arrayed around him. His muscles were loose but ready to coil
into action at the slightest provocation. He no longer thought about
Rule 24
– Always be on guard
or
Rule 96 – Always be prepared
.
These rules required little consideration since they were ingrained in his
mind. When he was a small-man, those
Rules
were perhaps necessary
because he did not know any better, but now that he was nineteen and close to fully
grown, he realized many of the
Rules
were superfluous. It dawned on him
that this was the entire reason for the
Rules
in the first place. If he
adhered to all the
Rules
and learned all the
Skills
,
then
he would grow into a big-man at which point the
Rules
and
Skills
would
simply become a part of his being.

“Rezkin.” Master Jaiardun’s voice had become even more
coarse and gravelly over the years. It almost sounded like he was chewing on
rocks all the time. “You have learned all of the
Rules
such that you
rarely break any, and since you passed your final
Skills
test last week,
we have little more to teach you. You have done so well, in fact, that you
completed your training at least three or four years ahead of our
predications.” Master Jaiardun paused at the perplexed look on Rezkin’s face.
“What is the source of your confusion?”

“Master, you said I know all the
Rules
, but I still
do not know
Rules 1
and
2
,” Rezkin replied.

“Hmm, yes, well, you will learn those as well. They are your
final lesson, which you will learn when you leave here,” replied Master
Jaiardun.

“Leave, Master? Am I not to stay here?” Rezkin asked. This
was the first he had heard that he would not be staying in the fortress where
he had lived his entire life.

Master Jaiardun huffed. “What did you think we were doing
here, Rezkin? You have learned the
Rules
and
Skills
. It is time
for you to put them to use. You have a purpose, and that purpose is not here.”

“I have a purpose?” he asked with surprise.

Master Peider stepped forward and spoke in his usual quiet,
sure voice. “We are men, Rezkin. All men need a purpose. Our purpose, and that
of these strikers, has been to train
you
. Our purpose is now at an end.
You must now go into the outworld.”

“So, what is my purpose?” Rezkin asked with curiosity.
Curiosity was one characteristic of Rezkin’s natural personality the masters
had actually encouraged. He was never punished for asking questions…unless they
were something he was already supposed to know.

“That, Rezkin, will become clear when you learn
Rules 1
and
2
,” replied Master Peider.

Rezkin knew that men played different roles in the outer
society. He had been trained to understand the workings of many of them. First,
there were the average commoners. He was familiar with many of their
Skills
,
but he otherwise did not know much about these people. His masters had always
said they held little importance to him. Then, there were the thieves. The minor
thieves held about as much importance as the average commoners, but the
thieves’ guilds had been a major point of discussion. Rezkin certainly had the
necessary skills for a thief, but to act as such would render much of his
knowledge wasted.

Rezkin thought of his other skills and compared them with
what he knew about society. He could become a soldier or guard, but most
soldiers and guards would never need the majority of his
Skills
. None of
the strikers in his own fortress were masters of all of the
Skills
,
which had always been confusing to him since they were obviously grown men. How
had they grown without knowing all the
Skills
and
Rules
?

What else was there? He could pass for a merchant. Although
he had never been to a market, the masters had described them in detail and
made certain he was knowledgeable in matters of currency and bartering. On a
greater scale, he was qualified to broker trade deals between merchant houses,
evaluate supply and demand, determine trade routes, and he understood (and
could undermine) levies, tariffs, and taxes. The masters had even brought in a
Master of one of the great merchant houses, Lord Butrand, for a few years to
teach him from first-hand knowledge. Lord Butrand had been a rather nervous man
who sweated profusely and always seemed on edge. After Rezkin passed his
Merchant
Skills
test, he had never seen Lord Butrand again. He briefly wondered
whatever happened to the man. But, what good would knowledge of poisons and
battle tactics be to a merchant?

A noble might have occasion to need any one of his skills
but would probably never actually need
all
of them, and from what he
understood of the nobility, one had to be born into it. Rezkin had never
thought much about his birth, but he was fairly certain he was not a noble. He
had been thoroughly trained in court etiquette and intrigue in case he ever had
to pass as a noble, but he was certain he lacked the long-term social skills
necessary to endure such a position. Furthermore, no one here had ever treated
him with the carefully choreographed illusion of deference that was supposedly
the thing to do amongst nobles.

Rezkin supposed he could become a spy, but anyone could be a
spy. From what he understood, outworlders valued gold and power more than
anything, and with promises and payment anyone could be bought. Average
commoners made excellent spies because nobles rarely took any notice of
scullery maids and footmen. Of course, what a maid might think was important
information might not be the same as what a merchant or lord thought was
important.

Well, Rezkin knew he would find out soon enough. He did not
have the time to ponder his purpose now, so he pushed it to the back of his
mind. “Masters, when will I be leaving, and will any of you be coming with me?”

“There is one task you must complete before you leave,
Rezkin,” Master Jaiardun solemnly stated. The master’s dark eyes bored into his
own, and Rezkin realized for the first time that he was no longer looking up at
the master. In fact, he might even have been looking slightly down.

Master Jaiardun was a tall man at a few inches over six
feet. Now, his shoulders slightly stooped with age but he was no less imposing.
His hair, once dark, had thinned so that he was now completely bald on top, and
grey and silver strands hung long from the sides past his shoulders. He wore
the same brown short robe with grey tunic and pants that Rezkin donned every
day. Today, Master Jaiardun wore a sword at his hip.

Both masters were considered Masters of the Blade, but
Jaiardun rarely carried one. In fact, several of the strikers were
Swordmasters. All of the strikers were required to be masters of at least one
Skill
,
and several were masters of two or three. Strikers Farson and Adona were each
masters of five
Skills
, which was the most of any of the strikers.
Still, none of them were masters of all of the
Skills
like Rezkin.

Rezkin had been told to come to the courtyard fully armed.
It was an unusual request. Of course, Rezkin always had weapons secreted about
his person unless he was told otherwise, but he was expected to know how to
make anything a weapon, even mundane objects such as a comb or drying cloth.
For years he had been trained in the knowledge that
he
was the true
weapon, and he could forgo any other accouterments, needing only his own body
and mind to prevail.

Rezkin bowed slightly, “What would you have me do, Master?”

Master Jaiardun held his gaze and said, “Now, you will kill
the strikers.”

There were several gasps and shouts as strikers leapt back.
Steal sang as swords were drawn all around. The hairs on Rezkin’s neck pricked,
and he spun to the side just as a dagger shot through the air where he had been
standing. The quaking of battle energy abruptly surged through him. He had to
get to a more advantageous position. The masters had set him up in the worst
position possible when they surrounded him with his opponents. He had no idea
why he was supposed to kill the strikers, and it really did not matter. The
masters had said it was so, and he must obey. It was a moot point, though,
since now that the strikers knew his objective, they would do everything in
their power to prevent him from accomplishing it. The strikers were now trying
to kill
him
.

Rezkin launched two throwing knives ahead of him at the two
strikers who were blocking his escape. One of the knives was deflected when the
striker on the right caught it with his blade, but the other sunk deeply into
the shoulder of the striker on the left. Rezkin had known these men all his
life. They had been his trainers and sparring partners as long as he could
remember. Of course, he knew their names, but his training told him to put all
personal considerations aside. The strikers were no longer men. They were
targets – targets that were equally trying to kill him.

Rezkin drew a dagger to catch the blade of the striker on
the right and threw his weight into the man. As the striker fell, Rezkin
grabbed the man’s face and smashed the back of his head into the cobblestones.
He did not wait to see if the man was dead. Rezkin knew he would not be getting
up again.

Spinning around, he kicked out at the striker who had been
on the left and swiped his legs out from under him. When the man fell, he
quickly stabbed the striker in the throat. Jerking the blade out just as
quickly, he leapt over the dying man and ran toward the next foe. A loud snap
made him veer to the side as a crossbow bolt whipped by his ear. In a movement
faster than thought, he launched a throwing knife at the source of the bolt and
heard a strained yelp as reward.

Rezkin feigned a slashing attack with the dagger, and the
man he was closing in on raised his blade to deflect the attack.  This
left him open for what Rezkin truly intended. He dropped to the ground and
skidded across the stone under the man’s guard to crash into him. As Rezkin
tumbled forward, the striker flew over Rezkin’s back. It was unfortunate for
the striker that the crossbowman had recovered and chose to launch his attack
at that instant. The striker took a crossbow bolt to the face, but the bowman must
have gotten closer because the bolt continued though the man’s head to burst
free from his skull, casting blood and grey matter across the cobblestones.

Three strikers were now converging on him, but one backed
off when he saw what happened to the last striker who got between Rezkin and
the crossbowman. With a
shnick
, Rezkin knew the crossbowman had
reloaded. He counted to three and then dove to the side just as the bolt was
released. The two strikers who had been closing in on him were forced to dive out
of the way as well.

Rezkin reached forward and grabbed one man’s ankle, dragging
him closer as Rezkin climbed over him. Just as he reached the man’s torso,
Rezkin gripped his shoulders and rolled over so that the man was on top of him.
The striker’s eyes nearly popped out of his skull as a long silvery blade
impaled him through the chest. Blood poured from the wound followed by more
blood sputtering up through the man’s lips on his dying breath.

Tossing the man aside, Rezkin kicked up into the groin of
the striker who was now standing over him. The striker cringed but used the
pain to power a downward strike of his sword. Rezkin kicked out with his other
foot bashing the man’s hands free from the hilt. He must have lost some of his
grip on the sword with the groin impact. Rezkin clenched his abdominals and
lurched up, ripping through the man’s intestines and stomach with his favorite
curved dagger. At that moment a throwing dagger sliced through Rezkin’s right
bicep and imbedded itself in the suffering striker’s shoulder. The young man
jerked the striker around and threw him toward his rear attacker as best he
could.

Rezkin ran toward the nearest striker, who happened to be
the crossbowman. The bowman realized too late that he would not be able to
reload in time. Before he was able to draw his sword, Rezkin grabbed him, spun
the man around, and impaled him through the kidney with a stiletto. The
excruciating, searing pain from such an injury was so intense that all of the
striker’s muscles locked up and the man could move no more than a statue
– at least, that is what Rezkin had been taught would happen. Luckily for
him it worked, and Rezkin was able to hold the man in front of him while he
assessed his surroundings.

All of his opponents were now to his front and sides so he
did not have to worry about his back for the moment. He was actually surprised
and dumfounded when his eyes landed on the masters. The two masters, the men
who had worked together diligently his entire life to instruct and guide him so
that he could grow to be a big-man, were engaged in a bitter duel, and it
appeared to be to the death.

Nine more
. In the brief seconds Rezkin had taken to
assess the situation, Rezkin’s attackers had launched several daggers and bolts
at him, all of which were ingloriously caught by his makeshift shield. Rezkin
scowled. These men should be better than this. It was such a waste of
long-ranged weaponry to launch it without a sure shot at the target. Everyone
could see he was hidden. The young man scanned the faces of the strikers he
faced and realized with disbelief that these men were terrified. They had all
failed
Rule 37 – Separate from one’s emotions
. Now, he understood.
They were unable to fight like big-men because they were breaking the
Rules
.
The solution was simple, then. He had simply to follow the
Rules
, and he
should prevail.