The test of the hunt came in the early days of the month of Setemis. They were required to carry their veils, hunting knives, bow and quiver, water canteens, and flints, along with their cloaks. They left the seminary by the west gate where Father Ordan found them a carriage in the city. It took them out of the city and, after a three-hour journey, it came to a stop.
Ordan brought them to the head of the Vaznik forest. Not much was known about it to them. Still, it would be accurate to say they knew of it. In truth, it was a simple forest.
Cenam led them before the crack of dawn. He followed the trail through the day as they tracked under the summer heat, while Sethlzaar brought down any prey that crossed their path, from the hares burrowing into the dirt to the birds soaring the skies a little too low.They filled their canteens anytime they came across puddles, which proved rare. The trail turned at intervals, heading east, then north. Soon they lost track of where they had begun following it.
The thumping sound of arrows as they found the target boards brought a sense of satisfaction to Sethlzaar. He found he preferred it to the sound that came with it piercing flesh. The darkness of the bow hall around him was disturbed by the soft glow from the lantern a few paces behind him. Tonight, his brothers walked the night with him. A walk that found them here."How do you do that, brother?" Takaris asked him.
Father Ordan came at the fourth hour with a cassock for each of them. He met them awake, and waiting, fully clothed with veils strapped in place.Only Sethlzaar carried a bow."Get to it," he told them. "Best get you lot out of my hair."
Sethlzaar sat in the bow hall with Emeril, knowing he would have to take Wraith for one last walk beyond the mist later in the evening. Emeril loosened arrows at her target, each one hitting its intended mark, but Sethlzaar knew she took no satisfaction from it. Less she didn't, and more she couldn't."Does it get lonely?" he asked.
Even in the northern lands, near the ice peaked mountains, the sun was hot from its peak in the sky as Valerik walked. He had left Rive tied to a tree in the forest a few miles back; some villages considered the horse an abomination, and the one he was heading for was one of them.It had been years since he last visited the village, perhaps a decade had gone by. He doubted Arfina would be happy to see him. Fortunately, she wasn't the reason he was going there. She hadn't been the reason the last time either, and it had played a part in dulling her mood, or spurrin
There was one thing Sethlzaar was certain of: his continued dislike of alcohol. In the seminary he had drunk it because his brothers did. Tonight he endured its bitterness for a different reason.Narvi had him gathering knowledge on a touched the seminary claimed was in their vicinity. He had been seated two hours now, clad in simple clothing that, at most, would identify him as a mercenary. With the absence of his veils and his bow, he could easily be mistaken for a simple citizen of the kingdom.
Narvi gave them his unwavering attention as Takaris rehashed the tale of his experience at one of the famed taverns near the first tower of the realm.One year, Sethlzaar thought. The mandatory pastoral year required of all priests in their first year of priesthood, regardless of their class.The shock had been palpable on all their faces when they had been told where they would be posted. For the past year they had lived on the outskirts of the realm in the west tower, near the outskirts of the Arlyn forest, combating the Merdendi savages, curtailing their growing horde; preventing a war. Six
Battle is nothing like the glories boys fantasize as they grow. There is no glory to it, just blood, and gore, and screams, and pain. The king rewards men who return from it, and shrouds them in false glory. This glory sends boys of all ages into a wanderlust for it. This glory is as real as it is tangible.Sethlzaar spun on his foot, his veils outstretched. He cut down two Merdendis closing in on him. Their blood splashed, staining his cloak. He ignored it, and pushed forward, cutting down foes, evading thrusting blades and swinging clubs and dire maces under the heat of the sun.