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.
Sethlzaar studied the cassock on his bed. He had a decision to make. Wear the black cotton shirt and leather trouser he always wore beneath his cloak or honor the Lord Commander's dinner with his cassock.It is not a dinner deserving of any honor,he told himself.He returned the cassock to the wardrobe present at the corner of his room and shrugged into a leather trouser and strapped on his boots. He covered his torso in a grey cotton shirt, concealing the few scars on his bo
A true silence is one thing men rarely ever experience. However, there are times in their lives when they come across it. A silence void of life. A silence that calls forth a terror within some, and a peace within fewer. This is a silence Ayla blesses her children with every so often. It is true and, sometimes, deafening.Sethlzaar stood, waiting. The veils on his back weighed little less than a new born, and his bow hung from his back, ready whenever he needed it. But his quiver was nowhere to be found, perhaps emptied and lost in the madness of whatever had brought him to this moment... thi
Sethlzaar blinked against the brightness. The action was slow, bereft of enthusiasm. He laid on a soft cushion, a bed unlike the one he had placed his head on the past few months.Turning his head, he surveyed his environment. It smelled of herbs, reminding him of Father Jenael and the priest's room in the seminary. This room, however, was small enough to contain one bed upon which he laid, but large enough to hold two, perhaps three, before becoming congested. The light that sought to blind him came from the window above his head. It was taller than it was wide. It was also the only window t