Vitiosi Dei (Heritage of the Blood Book 2) (13 page)

              Ashur had given Shawnrik basic training with every weapon that Nim had on hand at his manor during the six months that he and Victor had lived there, and the pair had an impressive array of weaponry. His training had initially been focused around the quarterstaff, however, as Ashur believed that the fundamentals of many of the other weapons could be learned by learning how to properly handle a staff. By the time he had left Safeharbor with Ashur and Dunnagan, Shawnrik's focus had changed to daggers, swords, and axes, but both of his mentors would frequently refer to one of the numerous staff forms in order to convey what they wanted him to do.

              Verrian's match had lasted a bit longer than his, but that was only because both of the boys seemed to be trying to figure out how exactly they should use their staves. Shawnrik could tell that Verrian was trying to mimic the way that he had been using his staff, but unlike Shawnrik's relaxed grip, Verrian was holding the staff tightly. His opponent decided that he might as well use the staff as a club,

running at Verrian with his staff held high.

              The two boys' quarterstaffs met twice, and to Verrian's credit he blocked the other boy's blows well. However, instead of deflecting the attacks, Verrian had tensed and let the staff do all of the work. Shawnrik watched as the vibrations of the impact coursed through his friend's little body, with his opponent faring little better. After that initial contact, the boys circled each other in the ring, obviously wary of the pain that had accompanied the blows. After two minutes with no contact, Instructor Boulette firmly ordered the boys out of the ring.

              Most of the matches after that had gone much the same as Verrian's had, each student testing the limits to which they would endure. At the end of the matches, four students who had passing knowledge of the weapons in hand stood before the Instructor.

Two of the three other students were Guardian Elves, who also happened to be twins. The Guardian elves were one of the groups that managed to escape Eske'Taure during the time known as the cleansing. According to the stories Dunnagan had told him, they had been known as Wild Elves before that unfortunate event. The Wild Elves had tried to talk some sense into their Elven brethren, but they finally concluded that the High Elves could not be talked out of their madness. When the Wild Elves officially renounced their High Elven brothers, they became known as Guardian Elves. They took this name because of the histories that they kept safe from the High Elves, who had a rather selective view of their history. Dunnagan said that the Guardian Elves probably knew more about the History of Terrazil than anyone alive.

Shawnrik also knew that the Guardian Elves' melee weapon of choice was the quarterstaff, so it was no surprise seeing the two standing beside him. He couldn't tell if the brothers were just naturally talented or if they had had training before, but he knew that they would put up a good fight.

              The last of the four was Rigael Ironfist, the Stroml'Dier boy who seemed to have a perpetual glare on his face whenever Shawnrik saw him. He wasn't sure if the boy always looked like that or if it was something the young man reserved only for him, but Shawnrik knew there was a lot of anger inside the young Stroml'Dier. Shawnrik couldn't help but respect Rigael's skill with the quarterstaff, though: he handled it as if it was an extension of his body, and his opponents had not lasted long.

              Instructor Boulette paired Shawnrik up against one of the Elven brothers, leaving the other to face Rigael. Shawnrik found his heart beating quickly as he stepped into the ring and took several deep breaths to calm himself. Here was a skilled opponent for him to fight, and he couldn't help but get excited. He was so excited about it in fact that he couldn't remember anything about it except the exact moment that he had seen the hole in his opponent’s defenses and struck, landing a solid jab with the end of the staff into the Elf's midsection.

              As Shawnrik left the ring, he saw a curious expression pass over the young Stroml'Dier face that he wasn't sure he liked. Rigael and the other Elf took to the ring, shaking hands before taking their ready stances, as had every pair before them. When the battle began, however, Shawnrik began to frown, and that frown grew steadily as the match progressed. Rigael was obviously not using all of the skill he possessed, and looking at the disapproving visage of the Instructor, he wasn't the only one that thought so. The Elf eventually took note of the pattern of Rigael's attacks, seemingly oblivious to the fact that the Stroml'Dier boy had been purposefully leaving openings in his defense, seizing upon one such opening with a sloppily done counter that ended the fight.

              Shawnrik was disgusted.

              He had never been the kind of person who would show off, but he felt very strongly about not trying your hardest at everything that you did. Shawnrik finally realized what he had seen cross the face of the young Stroml'Dier, and it didn't improve his opinion of the young man. Rigael had decided that there was a chance that Shawnrik would defeat him if they fought, so he had purposefully let an opponent that was less skilled than himself take him out rather than give Shawnrik that opportunity.

              Shawnrik was seething internally as he entered the ring against the twin of his earlier opponent, but he tried not to take his anger out on the kid. Annoyed but with the rage contained, Shawnrik abruptly ended the fight after only a dozen contacts. The twin had still not caught on to the fact that he had been allowed to win his previous match, so he had gone into the fight with Shawnrik full of confidence. As he exited the arena, however, that look had been replaced by confusion and shock.

              “Alright,” Instructor Boulette said as Shawnrik left the ring. “I now know where all of you are at in your training, or lack thereof. You all performed admirably enough, and with your best efforts put forward...” his eyes flicked towards Rigael, who at least had enough sense to look abashed, before finishing with, “I'm sure.”

              “Now is my favorite part of about the first day of the course!” His eyes settled on Shawnrik, and Shawnrik got the distinct impression that he was a mouse that had just been caught in the gaze of a hawk. “Whether you knew it or not and whether you want it or not, you are now my teaching assistant.” A murmur went through the assembled students, which was quickly cut off by the Instructor's raised hand. “At first thought, this might seem like a position of honor to most of you, but this simply means that I am going to work this young man harder than everyone else. Not only that, but I will also expect him to help me mold you lot into something resembling warriors. Before we leave for the evening, however, there is one thing left to do.”

              Calligan Boulette walked over to the rack that held the non-padded staves and selected one before removing his vest. Shawnrik's heart was still beating with the rage of what Rigael had done, but it picked up tempo as he realized what the Instructor had in mind. When the Instructor moved towards the center of the ring and motioned Shawnrik towards the rack of staves, all of his anger evaporated, and he found it hard to suppress the grin that wanted to spread across his face.

              Instructor Boulette was obviously at the very end of the prime of his life, as shown by his graying hair and well-worn face, but the man's body was still in peak physical condition. All in all, the man looked as if he had been chiseled from stone, an artist’s ideal of what a soldier should look like. The Instructor quietly stretched as Shawnrik moved towards the staves at the side of the ring before moving into a ready position.

              Shawnrik entered the ring cautiously, keeping his eyes locked on his opponent. It felt right as he held his staff in the vertical salute Ashur had taught him to do instead of the handshake that they had been using all evening. Boulette had not been expecting the customary salute from one warrior to another, and a grin tugged at the edge of his scowl as he returned it in kind.

              It was that moment that solidified Shawnrik's opinion of the man, and that thought hadn't changed as he exited the sparring circle five minutes later with a field of bruises on his side. He had found someone in this strange place of peacefulness and learning who was of a kindred spirit, and that realization allowed him to release a lot of the tension that had been building inside. Shawnrik had been watching his unmarked instructor put his vest back on, so it took him a moment to realize that the rest of the class was completely silent.

              Looking behind him, he couldn't help the small groan that escaped his lips as he looked upon the awe that radiated from the rest of his classmates as they looked between him and their Instructor.

              “That, my young pupils, is how one fights with a quarterstaff. I expect that our show of skill will light a fire to learn in most of you, and if that display didn't, you probably shouldn't be here this coming Thirdday,” Instructor Boulette said, barely breathing hard. 

              From the looks on the faces of his classmates as they left for the evening, Shawnrik was not surprised two days later when everyone was present and enthusiastic to learn.

Chapter 6

Choices and Consequences

Year: 3045 AGD

Month: New Year

First Thirdday (Evening)

Continent of Terroval

Ruined City of Asylum

              “Your Majesty. I cannot continue the greetings without first stating that I object wholeheartedly to the presence of the royal family in Asylum.”

              “Do you really hate us that much, Stewart?” Queen Sophiana Theromvore asked, teasing the High Commander.

              “I do not object to your presence personally, just at this current location. This is not a secure location, and I will have to remove valuable men from the search and sanitation of the city and the surrounding area,” Stewart Cantel replied crisply.

              “Sanitation, I like that,” Ashur whispered to Nim. “Much better than saying cleaning up dead bodies and making more where needed,” before Nim elbowed him.

              “As High Commander of the Knights, I respect your position in this matter, Cantel, but I must insist upon our continued presence here. There is quite a bit of talk amongst the nobles, including dissension about the fact that the Dracair forces were allowed control of our second largest city, and for such a long time.”

              “Allowed?!” Cantel did not bother to mask his outrage.

              “It is not my wording,” Theodrik Theromvore II said, his hands raised in a placating manner. The man was King of the Protectorate and one of the most politically powerful men in all of Terrazil, but he, like anyone else with sense, was afraid of Stewart Cantel. Nim couldn’t help but muse upon how wise a fear that was as the conversation continued.

              “Before the blood starts flowing too hotly in you men, you should know that our reason for this trip was to reassure the population that we are behind you completely and that everything is well in hand.” Sophia Theromvore was a very astute politician and excellent diplomat, but she must have had very limited contact with Stewart Cantel. 

              “That’s just the problem though
my Queen
. I am still not certain that we
do
have everything under control.”

              “Nonsense, Cantel, I have the utmost faith in your ability to keep this situation contained,” the King added with a grin that slowly withered under his High Commander’s scowl.

              Nim cleared his throat.

              “What is it, General Mithriannil?” Stewart Cantel asked through tightly pressed lips.

              “General?” King Theromvore interrupted enthusiastically. “Excellent, all the better. It is good to see you serving the protectorate once again, Nim.”

              “I have never stopped serving the well-being of the Protectorate, Your Majesty,” Nim said curtly, once again removing the smile that had come to the King’s face.

              “Of course you haven’t, we all know that,” Sophiana Theromvore said.

              “Yes, of course her Royal Majesty realizes that, but that is not the issue at hand. I must emphasize the position of High Commander Theromvore, and as Royal Adviser tell you that this location is far from secure. We have no reports on the size of the enemy, nor do we have enough men at full strength to defend this position should the enemy send a force the size of the last against us. I strongly request that if the Royal Personages will not leave that at least the Princes and the Princess be sent back to the safety of Safeharbor’s walls.”

              “General Mithriannil is correct in my humble opinion, Your Majesty,” Arch Magus Windsbane added, which caused everyone in the room to turn their attention to the ancient mage, who had thus far remained silent. “I could have one of my mages escort them to the line of power north of here and have them home safely for breakfast.”

              Nim was silently thanking the Arch Magus, but by the set expression on the King's face and the way he held himself, Nim knew that they were not going to change the man's mind. The protective look in the Queen's eyes gave him a sliver of hope that she might be able to persuade her husband differently, in a much more private setting.

              “We shall take the matter into consideration,” His Majesty said, using the royal we, which simply meant that he would talk to himself about it and tell everyone later that they were all wrong and he was right.

              Ashur sighed before murmuring in Nim’s ear, “Well, at least we tried.”

First Eighthday

Continent of Terroval

Ruined City of Asylum

              “One more week and we should be able to consider this city secure, Nim,” High Commander Stewart Cantel said with a sigh of relief. “Then I won’t have to lie awake at night fretting over our royal guests’ safety.”

              “Yes, those thoughts do seem to worm their way into one’s mind, don’t they,” Nim retorted in a tired voice, well punctuated at the end with a yawn.

              “I don’t know, I sleep pretty well,” Ashur grinned as his friends, who were also his superiors, scowled at him. It was true, of course; his sleep had suffered little since the arrival of the royal family. He understood the consequences should anything happen to the members of the royal family, but he didn’t think it was his problem. They had told Theodrik Theromvore II, his brother and King of the Protectorate, about the risks involved, and the man had summarily dismissed such talk as
rubbish
.

              The King of the Protectorate was simply handling his portion of governing the Protectorate: the politics. Ashur didn't like the fact that his brother was wagering the safety of his family in order for some puffed up nobles to feel safer behind the hundred foot walls that surrounded Safeharbor.

              As a soldier, there was little need to worry about political repercussions. There were three groups of people in Ashur’s mind, and those were allies, enemies, and bystanders. Allies you helped keep alive; enemies you helped meet their gods; and in the process of doing the first two, try to protect the bystanders as much as possible. Right now, the royal family was on the level of bystander in Ashur’s mind, and if they were not smart enough to get out of the way of danger, that was their choice. It didn’t matter that the king was his brother; the man had made his own decisions and now his whole family had to live with the consequences.

              “Ashur?” Nim asked, using the voice he used when commanding troops to snap his friend out of his thoughts.

              “Sorry, General, my thoughts were wandering,” Ashur replied.

              “Well pay attention,” Nim said, his tone not
quite
scolding. “Cantel and I were just discussing...”

              Whatever it was that they had been discussing, however, Ashur would never know, because Nim was cut off by the sound of rapidly approaching feet heading in their direction. A heartbeat later, the tent flap was thrown back by one of the guards outside, and an out of breath soldier came in, snapping into a crisp salute.

              Ashur recognized the soldier as Corporal Lance Tanner. He and Nim had saved the boy a long time ago, and Ashur was proud of the man that now stood before them. It was well known that Tanner would make a fine officer someday, should he live long enough to attain it.

              “Out with it, Corporal,” High Commander Cantel barked.

              “Sir, it's the princess. We can't find her, and we just found the body of the man who had been assigned guard duty today.” Cantel started swearing, but Nim caught the same look on the Corporal's face that Ashur had.

              “That's not all, is it?” Nim sat down at a nearby table, beginning to write out orders, but by the time Corporal Tanner finished his answer, the quill had fallen from his hand.

              “No sir, that isn't all...” Corporal Tanner said, his face turning pale. "The man's body, sir… he's been dead at least a week.”

              “Changeling,” Ashur hissed with disgust.

              “Doppelganger, most likely. Were any of the body parts missing, Corporal?” Nim barely allowed time for the man to nod before continuing. “Yes, Doppelganger. They are able to absorb parts of a person in order to completely assume their target's identity. It is a specialized version of Shaping that is more pronounced in several of the Blood Mages' test subjects. I'm told that it is easier for them to assume the form if they ingest part of a recently deceased corpse, though the older Doppelgangers only need to be in close proximity to their target to assume a new form.”

              “When was the last time anyone saw the princess and her
guard
?” Ashur asked as Nim's quill once again began to scratch out orders upon parchment.

              “Five hours ago, as near as I can tell, sir. I sent the men out to scour the area that the two had been seen in last before I ran to tell you.”

              “Good work,” Ashur said, all the while his mind went to work on the problem at hand. “Tell your Sergeant to have the men comb the city block by block in the direction that the princess was last seen heading. The Doppelganger will not leave much sign of its passing, but the princess might.”

              Corporal Lance Tanner stood silently for a moment too long to suit Ashur's sensibilities. “What did you not understand about my order, Corporal? Run along to your Sergeant.”

              “Sir, I would love to follow that order, but my Sergeant was the one assigned to guard the Princess today.”

              Ashur took a deep breath. “Well then, Sergeant Tanner, it looks like you just found yourself a field promotion, now hop to it!” Ashur was glad to see the young man salute sharply and turn to exit the tent before he had finished his sentence.

              Stewart Cantel was still swearing in as many languages as he knew, but he was also staring at the large map that was sprawled out across the table. Nim was scrawling out orders, and Ashur saw that he would be of no more help here. He had a division at his command, and he’d be damned if any of them would get any sleep over the next few days.

              He scowled as he walked out of the tent.

              His niece was missing.

First Eighthday

Continent of Terroval

City of Siniquity

              “Tell me you have good news for us, Temendri,” the old Blood Mage said as his apprentice entered his study.

              “I have good news, and not necessarily bad news, Lord Yandarian,” Temendri stated as he moved towards the desk of the man who had been instructing him in the arts of Anatomancy for the last fifteen years of his life.

              “Well then, why don't we start with the good news and work our way down from there. I'm hoping that our agent was able to apprehend his target?”

              “Yes indeed! The latest reports have him moving towards Freeport, in the opposite direction that the majority of the search is being conducted. Along the designated timetables and adjusting for unforeseen delays, the Princess should be in your hands before the month of Ragnós.” Temendri was trained well enough to keep the emotions from his face, but inside he was ecstatic. Such a coup for the Master should keep Yandarian content for a few weeks at least, even with the nature of his other news. That meant that he might not be beaten, or forced to watch Yandarian dismember anyone in the name of knowledge.