Game of Souls (15 page)

A
Day in Training

“F
ather, this is Winslow Cardiff, Count Ainslen’s son.” Keedar stood with his back to the white ash tree. It was good to be in the Parmien once again, inhaling the gummy scents and listening to the bird song. He sighed contentedly. The sun warmed his face while a cool breeze threaded the air.

“I’ve heard quite a bit about you from my son.” Lips pursed, Father squinted at Winslow like he were an intriguing piece to a puzzle he had been working on, acting as if he was now seeing the noble for the first time and had not already followed them to this clearing.

“Is that good or bad?” Winslow fidgeted with his gloves.

For once, Winslow had worn something more mundane and suited for the Parmien Forest. Fall’s chill was beginning to set in, and the light leather and close-fitting thick linen would keep him warm but not hinder any movements. Father was similarly dressed. For his part, Keedar had scrounged together what he could find in Rockbottom Plaza that he hoped wouldn’t make him seem so poor in Winslow’s eyes. Still, the young noble’s choice in wear and musky perfume made him feel inadequate.

“It’s good enough for me. If it were bad, you would know.” Father gave Winslow a warm smile, one that should make him a bit more comfortable than he appeared.

“So when do we start?”

“Patience,” Father said, “is the first lesson you will learn.”

“Yes, sir. Sorry.”

Keedar snapped his head around to Winslow. This was the first time he’d ever seen the noble be meek.

“I have a few rules. First, you must never reveal anything I teach you to anyone else.” Father paused, again squinting. “Judging from what I see, someone had been suppressing your soul for some time, possibly years. If you practice some of what you learn here when you’re in public, you must restrict it to what Lestin teaches you. Any other touching of your soul will give us away. Unless in defense of your life, use nothing I teach against another person.”

Winslow frowned. “Will some experienced melder not see that I’m using my soul anyway?”

“They will, but that’s natural. We use our souls in one form or another every moment of the day. With the rigors the drillmaster is putting you through, people will expect your energy to grow on its own. Nothing I teach at first will exceed those levels.”

“Fine.”

Delisar’s
sintu
increased around him, enveloping Winslow. The young noble shuddered.

“Do you agree to follow these rules?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Now, you’re bound. Should you break your word, I’ll know. Not only will I refuse to instruct you further, but there’s a chance, depending on why you broke the contract, that myself or one of my own may pay you a visit.” Delisar’s eyes and face became flat, his eyes dead. “That wouldn’t be good for you.”

Winslow swallowed. “Understood.”

“Good.” Father beamed, his mood changing. “Now, for the first lesson. Developing your soul is as much an everyday task as exercising. The two often go together. So, for today, you will run with Keedar. Try to keep up as best you can. If you do well enough, I’ll teach you the first requirement a person needs in order to meld; the most important and overlooked part of being able to see and manage your soul.”

“I have learned the basics before.” Winslow puffed out his chest. “I—”

“What you’ve learned before means nothing to me,” Father said calmly. “Every instructor is different. And that’s another thing … you will do as I say when I say without question. If you feel differently, we can end this now.”

“Sorry, sir. It will not happen again.”

“Good. Now, if you’re ready, we will begin.”

“What of the derins.” Licking his lips, Winslow peered into the thickest foliage, eyes shifting from side to side.

“I’ll always be nearby,” Delisar said. “They won’t attack you if I’m close. I doubt you’ll see them anyway, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t there or they don’t see you. They’re particular about who and what they eat. Which reminds me … next time you come here, wear no perfume. It reeks. Come with your natural scent or not at all.”

Winslow nodded.

“What about their leader? The female?” Keedar couldn’t help the slight flutter that came with his memories.

“I have someone keeping an eye on her. Now, go, run.”

Not wanting to give himself or Winslow any chance to hesitate further, Keedar took off. He headed for a patch of spruce and pine that wasn’t too thick, their leaves a spongy carpet on the ground, their scents a welcome respite to Kasandar’s stench. Calculating that if he ran for half his normal speed it would be a good test, he weaved his way among saplings and brush, the green of leaf and brown of bark as much a part of him as his own skin. He’d gone maybe two hundred feet when an incongruous scent—several spices he couldn’t place—broke him from his enjoyment.

Winslow was a step behind him. And Keedar hadn’t heard his footsteps. The unexpected happened then, as Winslow not only drew even, but pulled ahead. Sweat showing from exertion, the noble ran as if he’d done it his entire life.

The nimbus created by Winslow’s unconscious use of
sintu
waxed and waned unevenly, but its spurts were so powerful Keedar felt it pushing against his own. He gaped with the realization that this was Winslow’s natural state, carefree, lively, and not the glum, brash, at times arrogant, and rather distant individual he portrayed. Winslow glanced his way, the corners of his lips curved up, but his eyes focused. The intensity written on his features told Keedar of his other traits: fierce determination and competitiveness. Winslow believed that if this was a race, he was going to win.

Keedar couldn’t help his own smile as tingles eased through his body at the challenge. In small bursts they spread from his core in rhythmic charges, the type that once lifted the hair along his arms when lightning struck one of the spires in the old temple dedicated to Keneshin, the Grey God of Storms. He tapped into his soul, drawing from nonessential parts he didn’t require for running, concentrating the energy on his pumping legs and arms. With this—
tern
—the last ability in soul magic’s first cycle, his speed increased. If he decided to, he could travel four times his current speed. Instead, he tempered his pace until he led Winslow by a dozen strides.

A glance over his shoulder showed Winslow driving harder to keep up, his cheeks expanding and deflating like a fish washed up on the shore. Winslow’s nimbus grew stronger, the trees and brush seen through it a mélange of greens, yellows, and browns. But without the control to apply his energy appropriately, his speed didn’t increase to match.

Refocusing ahead before he crashed into a branch or tripped over roots, Keedar maintained his pace. The second part of this test would be endurance.

Three hours later, Keedar finally drew to a halt near one of the forest’s many pools, the sun’s rays glinting from its surface like a golden jewel. The wildlife scattered at his approach. He was drinking his second fill from his water pouch when Winslow broke through the trees near the pool’s edge. Face flushed and gasping for breath, Winslow stopped and bent over. Sweat dripped from him.

“Here,” Keedar tossed him the refilled pouch.

Winslow looked up just in time to catch the leather container. He gave a grateful nod in Keedar’s direction before he threw his head back and guzzled. Within seconds, he was coughing and sputtering.

“Take your time. You wouldn’t want to choke to death.”

After a few more gulps, Winslow wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “H-H-How long did we run for?”

Keedar glanced to the sun, now well on its curve toward evening. “At least three hours.”

“I—” Winslow held up his hand and took in a few more deep breaths. When his chest finished heaving, he said, “I have never run like that before. I mean, I have always been better than the others when we spar, but we have yet to do anything like this even when my father,” he paused, brow wrinkled, “when Count Cardiff brought in a Marish swordmaster.”

Keedar snorted. “Considering the way you nobles are quick to behead a man for making you look bad, I’m certain the swordmaster must have taken it easy.”

“Whatever.” Winslow mopped his brow, drank some more, and then poured water over his head. “This wasn’t so bad. Not nearly as rough as what my drillmaster does.”

“I could have made it harder on you, but I saw no reason to.” Keedar had heard the nightmare stories of the Blades’ vaunted training. Father claimed some of it was necessary, but that each student should be judged on his or her own merits. The Blades were different, Father said, because they trained men to kill.

“How do you think I did today?”

“That’s for my father to say, not I.”

Winslow sighed. “So where is he, and what now?”

“Now, we wait.” Keedar settled down on a boulder to do exactly that.

The third part of the test had begun.

In truth, Winslow’s performance had been surprising. For a person who had not gone through years of practice, he had an uncanny grasp of
tern
, able to take a bit of soul from one part of his body and apply it to another. Keedar was uncertain if it was a natural occurrence or if it had been induced. Delisar would be able to tell difference. Those adept in
tern
would excel at the corresponding median cycle,
hyzen
, which allowed a person to shift nearly all of their soul to a specific body part, thus making it incredibly strong or flexible. It weakened the unprotected parts, but the benefits and need defined its use. Keedar smiled, the sun warming his face, the prospect of watching Winslow’s development exciting him.

Afternoon dragged into evening with not much passing for conversation between them. On several occasions, Winslow opened his mouth, but then closed it without sharing his thoughts. By his pinched expression and grinding jaw, he was frustrated, but he refused to voice his displeasure. The day birds and animals chittered into silence, and owls and the night’s denizens took up their calls. Antelen rose, casting its silvery glow across the land and water to honor the Goddess after which it was named.

“Not bad at all.”

Keedar didn’t react to his father’s voice, but Winslow started. The young noble scrambled to his feet. Expecting an outburst, Keedar waited, but none came. Instead, Winslow dipped his head to Delisar.

“You passed the first three tests required.” A lamp sparked to life in Delisar’s hands. “A natural ability above others to draw on your soul. Endurance. Patience. You will need all three if you ever hope to become a melder.”

“Thank you.” Winslow beamed like a child tasting sweets for the first time.

“Temper your excitement. It may take years yet before you accomplish your first meld. This is but a small step.”

“I have no care for how long it takes. I promise to be as diligent a student as any you have.” Winslow glanced at Keedar, eyes showing his determination.

Delisar smiled. “It’s good to set yourself a goal, even if it’s a bit lofty.” He turned to Keedar. “I see you used
tern
today. Be careful when drawing on it. The weakness it creates in other parts of your body can be glaring. It’s best if you use
sintu
to help protect what you exposed.”

“Yes, Father.”

“Well, that is all for today,” Delisar said. “Make your way to Kasandar. I will see you both on the morrow.” He handed the lamp to Keedar and trotted off into the dark treeline.

Hours later, they exited the forest where Winslow kept his stallion. In the distance Kasandar’s twinkling eyes shone from the battlements, spires, and towers.

Winslow mounted and held a hand down to Keedar. “In order to get back into the citadel at this time you’ll need me.”

“You’re not worried what the count might think if someone reports us entering together?” Keedar grabbed a hold of the outstretched hand, put one foot on the stirrup, and pulled himself up behind Winslow. “I’d hate to have Sorinya after me. I heard what he did in the Smear.”

Winslow stiffened, and then let out a slow breath. “He won’t kill you. The count will scold me for being seen with a commoner, but beyond that, he won’t do much else. He has other issues to deal with.”

“If you say so, but it’s your ass.”

“Indeed, it is.” Winslow flapped his reins, and they set off at a trot.

It felt strange having someone of Winslow’s stature willing to place themselves at risk on his behalf. At the same time, the gesture was comforting.

After a while riding in silence with the wind’s chill and crickets’ chirps to keep them company, Winslow slowed the horse to a walk. “Why did you choose to help us that day in the Smear?”

Keedar shrugged. “I told you, better to lend you a hand than have the Night of Blades repeat itself.”

“That’s when you lost your mother, wasn’t it?”

A sudden lump formed in Keedar’s throat. He swallowed. It took a great effort for him not to show any other reaction. “Yes.”

“They say my mother’s death started the Night of Blades.”

“Are you certain?” Keedar understood now why Winslow had despised the Smear.

Winslow nodded.