King of Sword and Sky
Page 94
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The former dahl'reisen arched one black brow. "Of course. Why wouldn't I be?" He gave a dismissive snort. "There are none within who could give me cause for concern, even on their best days."
"Good," Rain said. "Because I'm sure there will be more than a few eager to try. You broke your honor. They will not let you off gently." He turned to lead the way through the Warriors' Gate. Tajik, Rijonn, and Gil followed on his heels.
Gaelen hesitated just long enough to earn a knowing look from Bel.
"You are Fey once more," Bel said with quiet reassurance. "Give them time to remember that, treat them with the respect your blade brothers deserve, and they will welcome you."
Gaelen adjusted his weapons belts and set his jaw. "Let them keep their welcome—and their disapproval. If they allow pride to prevent them from learning what skills I have to teach, they deserve their fate."
"True," Bel agreed. "Cloaking one self in blind pride is as foolish as donning glass armor for war. I'm glad you recognize it for the danger it is."
Gaelen gave vel Jelani a sour look. "You are as subtle as a rultshart in rut."
Bel responded to the insult with a grin. "Humility isn't a poison draft," he said. "It wouldn't kill you to try a sip."
"Where's the fun in that?"
"Just think of the joy on your sister's face when she sees you leading the warriors of the Fey into battle like the hero you once were." With a speaking lift of his brow, Bel turned and jogged after Rain, Tajik, Gil, and Rijonn.
Gaelen stood there, gaping after him. Without a backward glance, Bel thrust a hand behind his back, spun a fly out of Spirit, and sent it buzzing straight into Gaelen's mouth.
Vel Jelani was most definitely a master of Spirit. The bug felt entirely too real, right down to the wild flutter of its wings and unpleasant taste. Gaelen spat instinctively before he had the sense to unravel Bel's weave. His eyes narrowed as soft laughter trailed back to his ears. "You will regret that, vel Jelani." Setting his jaw, he loped after the Spirit master through the long, arching tunnel of the Warriors' Gate.
Rain, Tajik, Rijonn, and Gil emerged from the Warriors' Gate and crossed the small first courtyard where, in days before the Wars, when the Fey had flourished, young recruits would gather at the beginning of each season to be evaluated and assigned a chatok who would guide them through their Cha Baruk. Six steps led from the courtyard to the arched doorway that opened to the Walk of Honor, a long, continuous corridor that bordered the Academy's large, central training field. There, inside the walk, statues of famous warriors and chatoks lined the gleaming marble corridor, while polished Fey steel and the sorreisu kiyr of long-dead heroes hung on the walls.
Rain walked past the statues, feeling the weight of their inanimate stares, and unpleasant worms of doubt uncurled anew in his belly. He'd walked this corridor more times than he could count, activating the Spirit weaves that recounted the triumphs and sacrifices attributed to each of the great Fey until he could repeat each tale from memory.
Honor had been no mere word to the Fey enshrined here. They'd considered it an immutable truth, clear and uncompromising. They'd died for it, selflessly, leading by example. What was he doing, bringing a dahl'reisen to join their honored company?
Bel and Gaelen caught up just as he passed through the door leading to the training yard. Rain turned his head to meet Gaelen's eyes, expecting to see his doubt reflected in the former dahl'reisens gaze. Instead, he found shock and something even more surprising…humility.
"It welcomed me," Gaelen whispered. "As I passed through it, the Warriors' Gate said, 'Greetings, Gaelen vel Serranis, warrior of the Fey, Champion of Light,' just as it did when I completed my Cha Baruk. Just as if I'd never trodden the Shadowed Path."
Bel clapped a hand on Gaelen's shoulder and smiled, and Rain closed his eyes in relief. The tension that had been gathering in his shoulders and belly flowed out like waters released from a dam. The Mists had welcomed Gaelen. Now, the Warriors' Gate had welcomed Gaelen. It was as if all the great magic of the Fading Lands were trying to reassure Rain that Gaelen's honor truly had been restored, that the shadows of his past had been wiped away as if they'd never been.
He took a deep breath and strode through the door onto the Academy's training ground.
Open to the sky above, the yard was a vast expanse of bare ground surrounded by covered, colonnaded walkways. From one corner to another, the warriors had gathered. Thousands of them. Ellysetta's lu'tans and every unmated warrior in Dharsa—even a few dozen of the mated ones.
All eyes turned towards Rain as he and Ellysetta's quintet entered and made their way to the end of the field, where a gallery of gilded chairs sat under a rounded marble roof.
Long ago, when Feyreisen had been numerous, the Defender of the Fey and his Tairen Soul brethren would visit the Academy each month and sit in those chairs to observe the training of the Fey warriors who would fight at their sides. Today, as they had been for the last thousand years, the chairs were occupied by the venerable chatok, the mentors, of the Academy. They stood as Rain approached.
"Welcome, Feyreisen." Jaren v'En Harad, the oldest of the chatok and Lord of the Academy, bowed and waved one arm towards the large, central chair carved with tairens' heads that had an unimpeded view of the field.
Rain hesitated for the briefest moment before moving forward to stand before it.
"Good," Rain said. "Because I'm sure there will be more than a few eager to try. You broke your honor. They will not let you off gently." He turned to lead the way through the Warriors' Gate. Tajik, Rijonn, and Gil followed on his heels.
Gaelen hesitated just long enough to earn a knowing look from Bel.
"You are Fey once more," Bel said with quiet reassurance. "Give them time to remember that, treat them with the respect your blade brothers deserve, and they will welcome you."
Gaelen adjusted his weapons belts and set his jaw. "Let them keep their welcome—and their disapproval. If they allow pride to prevent them from learning what skills I have to teach, they deserve their fate."
"True," Bel agreed. "Cloaking one self in blind pride is as foolish as donning glass armor for war. I'm glad you recognize it for the danger it is."
Gaelen gave vel Jelani a sour look. "You are as subtle as a rultshart in rut."
Bel responded to the insult with a grin. "Humility isn't a poison draft," he said. "It wouldn't kill you to try a sip."
"Where's the fun in that?"
"Just think of the joy on your sister's face when she sees you leading the warriors of the Fey into battle like the hero you once were." With a speaking lift of his brow, Bel turned and jogged after Rain, Tajik, Gil, and Rijonn.
Gaelen stood there, gaping after him. Without a backward glance, Bel thrust a hand behind his back, spun a fly out of Spirit, and sent it buzzing straight into Gaelen's mouth.
Vel Jelani was most definitely a master of Spirit. The bug felt entirely too real, right down to the wild flutter of its wings and unpleasant taste. Gaelen spat instinctively before he had the sense to unravel Bel's weave. His eyes narrowed as soft laughter trailed back to his ears. "You will regret that, vel Jelani." Setting his jaw, he loped after the Spirit master through the long, arching tunnel of the Warriors' Gate.
Rain, Tajik, Rijonn, and Gil emerged from the Warriors' Gate and crossed the small first courtyard where, in days before the Wars, when the Fey had flourished, young recruits would gather at the beginning of each season to be evaluated and assigned a chatok who would guide them through their Cha Baruk. Six steps led from the courtyard to the arched doorway that opened to the Walk of Honor, a long, continuous corridor that bordered the Academy's large, central training field. There, inside the walk, statues of famous warriors and chatoks lined the gleaming marble corridor, while polished Fey steel and the sorreisu kiyr of long-dead heroes hung on the walls.
Rain walked past the statues, feeling the weight of their inanimate stares, and unpleasant worms of doubt uncurled anew in his belly. He'd walked this corridor more times than he could count, activating the Spirit weaves that recounted the triumphs and sacrifices attributed to each of the great Fey until he could repeat each tale from memory.
Honor had been no mere word to the Fey enshrined here. They'd considered it an immutable truth, clear and uncompromising. They'd died for it, selflessly, leading by example. What was he doing, bringing a dahl'reisen to join their honored company?
Bel and Gaelen caught up just as he passed through the door leading to the training yard. Rain turned his head to meet Gaelen's eyes, expecting to see his doubt reflected in the former dahl'reisens gaze. Instead, he found shock and something even more surprising…humility.
"It welcomed me," Gaelen whispered. "As I passed through it, the Warriors' Gate said, 'Greetings, Gaelen vel Serranis, warrior of the Fey, Champion of Light,' just as it did when I completed my Cha Baruk. Just as if I'd never trodden the Shadowed Path."
Bel clapped a hand on Gaelen's shoulder and smiled, and Rain closed his eyes in relief. The tension that had been gathering in his shoulders and belly flowed out like waters released from a dam. The Mists had welcomed Gaelen. Now, the Warriors' Gate had welcomed Gaelen. It was as if all the great magic of the Fading Lands were trying to reassure Rain that Gaelen's honor truly had been restored, that the shadows of his past had been wiped away as if they'd never been.
He took a deep breath and strode through the door onto the Academy's training ground.
Open to the sky above, the yard was a vast expanse of bare ground surrounded by covered, colonnaded walkways. From one corner to another, the warriors had gathered. Thousands of them. Ellysetta's lu'tans and every unmated warrior in Dharsa—even a few dozen of the mated ones.
All eyes turned towards Rain as he and Ellysetta's quintet entered and made their way to the end of the field, where a gallery of gilded chairs sat under a rounded marble roof.
Long ago, when Feyreisen had been numerous, the Defender of the Fey and his Tairen Soul brethren would visit the Academy each month and sit in those chairs to observe the training of the Fey warriors who would fight at their sides. Today, as they had been for the last thousand years, the chairs were occupied by the venerable chatok, the mentors, of the Academy. They stood as Rain approached.
"Welcome, Feyreisen." Jaren v'En Harad, the oldest of the chatok and Lord of the Academy, bowed and waved one arm towards the large, central chair carved with tairens' heads that had an unimpeded view of the field.
Rain hesitated for the briefest moment before moving forward to stand before it.
