It was early into his sixth year in the seminary in the month of Janus, first of its year, when Sethlzaar first saw a face from the conisoir.
The snow covered the dirt and the brothers walked the compound clad in their fur cloaks of wolf skin. Father Yggdra had them in the training room where the ground rose and fell at varying angles. Today he had them spar with brothers from Zanujaj.
The streets, although not as choked as it would be on festivals, swarmed with people trampling whatever was left of the snow scattered across the stone floor. It was Sethlzaar's worse part of the days of outing. A test of the crowd.
They found themselves under the command of Father Yggdra the next day. The hall he led them to was different from the one they had practiced in their years in the seminary. This hall was grand and open with more air than they thought a building capable of accepting. The ground was level with the pick of dust at the slightest step.As they walked their feet raised dust. But Father Yggdra seemed to glide above it, each step soundless, the one to succeed each even quieter than the one before. An action he seemed to perform without thought.
Sethlzaar's brothers rarely discussed the training in his presence. A sense of empathy, he noted. In time even the priests favored him with looks of pity. Priestess Emeril not so subtly reduced the force with which she pushed him during their personal practice of the bow. The greatest blow came when Father Ordan proved sparing with the cane, flogging him for only the dumbest of mistakes."So tell us, brother. What's her name?" Omage spoke between bites as they ate in the dining hall one evening.
The night was cold and Sethlzaar ran through it on an open clearing, stopping at one of the buildings around. There, he bided his time.Why does it have to be tonight? he thought. Especially now that he's angry. His mind flashed to Cynth, and he shook his head. This was no time to be distracted by the old man, he needed to focus.
"He's awake."Yes., I am.Sethlzaar was pulled back to consciousness by something. Perhaps the voice. Maybe it was something else. But he was awake now. He would begrudge whoever it was later, if the grudge was still there to hold on to.
The test was different from the ones they knew, different from the ones they had. The older boys were not present for it, having left the seminary on a task of sorts. Their spiritual work, the priests called it. A stipulated period of time when they would be at different churches, offering their services to the sisters of the church, whatever it may be, as long as it fell within the confines of the credence.Father Ordan trooped them out of the seminary in the morning before the commencement of the morning mass. They gained the employ of a Tarc, as had been done f
Valerik sat in front of the flame warming his hands, though he needed none of the warmth. He'd never needed help staying warm in the cold, not in a very long time.Helva sat on the other side of the flame, a woman of considerable age. Her head bore a full set of hair, and her skin sagged. She held her hands outstretched before the flame while the stick she seemed unable to walk without laid on the floor beside her. She, unlike him, needed the fire.
Sethlzaar sat uncomfortably in the seat. The cushion was plush, a very delicate touch to his butt, unlike what the seminary was prone to offering. Its size was massive enough to accommodate a second person. It was decorated with embroidery of such beauty only the best in the art could have done it, and the wood was carved beautifully with intricate designs of its own. It was a throne in itself.However, what he sat on was not the source of his discomfort. It waswherehe sat: The sanctuary of the Arslagh head church of Truth, the