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They should avoid the main entryway, he said. It was inset at the point at which the pier co
Feeling the interminable minutes plod past, Spratling wished he was there with them. It should have been him at risk. He was the one who had led them here, whether he liked to admit it or not. Why hadn’t he gone with them? Dovian gave the orders, and he had followed. Why didn’t he question…
Before Spratling knew it was happening, Dovian reached out, took the bag from his hand, and tossed it into the ocean. “I’m the one going,” the raider said. “Don’t argue with me about it. Until I’m gone, I’m in charge. This is what I say. Just wanted you to know first. We’ll tell the others together. Come.”
“No!” Spratling slammed a hand to Dovian’s chest, stopping him. “No, we were to draw lots. We all agreed! You ca
Dovian’s hand covered the younger man’s, hot and coarse, sweaty. “Don’t make this hard on me. I’m sick. I’m not getting any better. The truth is I’m dying. I’ve been so for a long time now. I’ve been waiting to understand how best to say good-bye to the world. Now I’ve found it.”
“You ca
“You’re wrong there. I’ve given you everything I could. I’ve lived the best years of my life with you, lad. I’ve given you every bit of wisdom I have. Wasn’t much, I know, but I’ve taught you everything a father should, haven’t I? In a just world fathers would live to see their sons become men. Only then would they leave them. That’s what’s happening here.”
Spratling saw a second movement on the pier again. He watched, breathless, until he saw the boat emerge from the shadows, rowing back toward the Ballan. He wanted them to stop. He needed more time. To Dovian, he said, “We made an agreement. It’s not your place-”
The older man sighed. “You’ll sit on the throne of Acacia someday. You will, even if you don’t know it yet. If I had my way I’d be there beside you, proud as can be. But I ca
They did not actually hear the words from the returning group, but the message flowed to them on fingers of whispered electricity. The key was good! The warehouse was unlocked. They had killed two guards near the front gate but no others were in sight.
“I’ll make a hell of a blaze, I promise you that. Ah, Dariel, come on now. I’m just asking you this one thing…No, not one thing. I’ve a second thing as well. You won’t deny me it. I know you won’t, ’cause I raised you better than that.”
Less than an hour later, Spratling unfurled the black sail while the others still pulled on the oars. The wind had shifted. It blew them slicing through the ocean at a steady clip. The orange stain that a
They put a second hour behind them. A few whispered fears that Dovian had been caught. None of them knew what he faced upon passing through that unlocked threshold. Perhaps the mission had failed. Spratling moved away from the others and stood in the prow of the ship. No matter what, Dovian was gone. It did not seem real. Did not seem possible. He wanted to stop the motion of the boat on the sea and the passing of time and just-
Such notions were ended in the most decisive of ways. Spratling knew the very moment Dovian sent his soul in search of the Giver. The blast of light that a
CHAPTER
Though Mena made sure never to waver in her duties as Maeben, the greater portion of her attention now went to her lessons with Melio. He met her in her compound every day, after she had completed her duties to the goddess. Instead of talking as they had done in their first few encounters, he tutored her solely in swordplay. He claimed to be out of practice and to never have been a teacher, but he dropped right into the role as if he had been born for it.
Within a few days of Mena stating her interest, Melio had ventured up into the interior highlands in search of suitable wood for practice swords. Though it was different from the ash used on Acacia, he did find a strong-grained timber of a reddish hue that served nicely. By the end of the first week they both danced about with training swords. They were lighter than he wished, but Melio was still pleased. His fingers caressed the gentle curves of the blades as if they wished to memorize each inch of them. He returned each day having made small refinements, added accoutrements, carved and sanded, oiled and honed the weapons in ways both functional and aesthetic.
Mena had little difficulty learning the postures, in getting her grip right, and setting her feet well. Any mistake that Melio corrected was banished forever. She never needed to be told a thing twice. At first this had surprised the tutor, but with the passing days he took her aptitude more and more as a given. They flew forward from one lesson to the next. Working on the various strokes, on how to best cha
The First Form, that of Edifus at Carni, Mena committed to physical memory in three days. The fight between Aliss and the Madman of Careven took all of two days. Melio suggested they skip the Third Form, wherein the knight Bethenri went to battle with devil’s forks, but Mena would not hear of it. She helped him fashion versions of the short, daggerlike weapons. The two of them cut and slashed, bent and twirled, thrust and retreated throughout one long afternoon. They stirred up clouds of dust and attracted the eyes of the servants, who stood at respectful distances completely transfixed by the sight of their mistress spi