Why did he care so much that Hettie seemed accepting of Kiranrao’s company? Was he, a Bhikhu, attempting to own her in his way? She was a Romani girl, stolen at birth by a midwife and raised to be sold every ten years starting at age eight. Paedrin had snapped off her earring in Kenatos, and she had become a disciple of the Bhikhu ways. But he also knew that she was a cunning liar. Conflicting memories of her bashed around inside him. He had grown to trust her at last, through all they had suffered together to reach the Shatalin monastery and claim the Sword of Winds. A shiver went through him at the memory of huddling close to her at a cliff face. She had nearly plummeted to her death that night and he had saved her. In return, she had saved him from the Kishion training yard.
Yet Kiranrao was her old master. He who pays the piper calls the tune. Was Kiranrao calling the tune or was Tyrus? Was Hettie showing deference to Kiranrao so as not to provoke him? Would Paedrin fare better if he stopped provoking him too?
The man is insufferable, he thought blackly. How would Shivu have handled him? Black thoughts scudded across his mind. It did not matter for Master Shivu was dead, killed by Romani poison.
Annon stopped and the lack of motion caught Paedrin’s attention instantly. He shoved aside his teeming feelings with great effort and began searching the area for signs of a threat. The big cat was nestled by Annon’s leg, its tail lashing like a snake. Annon turned and began to hurry to Tyrus. Paedrin, not wanting to miss any of their conversation, reached the Paracelsus first.
“What is it?” Tyrus asked Annon.
“The spirits tell me we are hunted,” Annon answered in a low voice. Some of the others gathered around as well. “They will stay out of sight until after nightfall, but I fear we may be surrounded. Our progress is being tracked.”
“From behind?”
Annon nodded. “For now. Word is spreading about us. They may seek to box us in. Should we change direction?”
Tyrus shook his head. “No, I don’t want them to realize we know of their plans. We can escape easily enough with the Tay al-Ard. Escaping is not my concern. I intend to face them.”
“You do?” Annon asked, his face betraying his surprise.
“I have trained for years to fight Boeotians,” Paedrin said, edging closer. “They are the principle enemies of Kenatos and have sought to destroy us since the founding.”
“Yes, yes, I know,” Tyrus said impatiently. “They are a proud race. Honor motivates them, but not the form of it you might be thinking.”
“Honor?” Phae asked, brushing a long strand of hair over her ear. “What do you mean?”
Tyrus glanced at her and did not answer her question. “It is important that we learn how to fight as a group. It is crucial that we understand each other’s abilities. We will not molest the Boeotians if they leave us alone. But if their hunting party attacks us, they will be surprised.” Tyrus cocked his head a moment, pausing as the others approached. “They have a strange ritual among them. Their leaders are always the fiercest warriors and they constantly challenge each other for supremacy. When they come, Paedrin will challenge their leader.”
A glow of excitement welled in Paedrin’s heart. That was exactly what he needed. “I would be honored.”
The glow turned sour when he saw Tyrus’s smirk. “I’m confident in your abilities, Paedrin, but I mean to tell them that you are our lowliest fighter. It will send a message through their ranks and to their chieftains that we are not to be trifled with. They will test us before committing all of their force. We will pass their test.”
It did not help Paedrin’s feelings that Hettie was smiling at Tyrus’s comment. She gave the Bhikhu a look, her expression revealing her unspoken words. Lowliest fighter?
“Very well, Tyrus,” Paedrin replied with as much dignity as he could muster in such a moment. “But I have a ploy that I need to warn you all about. The Sword of Winds contains a potent magic. It cannot be drawn from its sheath without triggering the effect. This is what happens. The stone set in the pommel glows, and anyone who sees it will become blinded and suffer terrible pain. These effects do wear off after many hours, and the pain is not without benefit. In some way, the magic strips away the need to use your eyes at all. When it happened to me at the Shatalin temple, I was able to see just as well with my eyes shut. My other senses were amplified and I still feel those effects even now. If the leader succumbs to the magic, it will be a quick victory, for the magic is quite painful.”
“Let me see it,” Tyrus said, holding out his hand. Paedrin swiveled the scabbard around from his sash and quickly untied it. He offered it to Tyrus, who examined the pommel and the stone embedded there.
Yet Kiranrao was her old master. He who pays the piper calls the tune. Was Kiranrao calling the tune or was Tyrus? Was Hettie showing deference to Kiranrao so as not to provoke him? Would Paedrin fare better if he stopped provoking him too?
The man is insufferable, he thought blackly. How would Shivu have handled him? Black thoughts scudded across his mind. It did not matter for Master Shivu was dead, killed by Romani poison.
Annon stopped and the lack of motion caught Paedrin’s attention instantly. He shoved aside his teeming feelings with great effort and began searching the area for signs of a threat. The big cat was nestled by Annon’s leg, its tail lashing like a snake. Annon turned and began to hurry to Tyrus. Paedrin, not wanting to miss any of their conversation, reached the Paracelsus first.
“What is it?” Tyrus asked Annon.
“The spirits tell me we are hunted,” Annon answered in a low voice. Some of the others gathered around as well. “They will stay out of sight until after nightfall, but I fear we may be surrounded. Our progress is being tracked.”
“From behind?”
Annon nodded. “For now. Word is spreading about us. They may seek to box us in. Should we change direction?”
Tyrus shook his head. “No, I don’t want them to realize we know of their plans. We can escape easily enough with the Tay al-Ard. Escaping is not my concern. I intend to face them.”
“You do?” Annon asked, his face betraying his surprise.
“I have trained for years to fight Boeotians,” Paedrin said, edging closer. “They are the principle enemies of Kenatos and have sought to destroy us since the founding.”
“Yes, yes, I know,” Tyrus said impatiently. “They are a proud race. Honor motivates them, but not the form of it you might be thinking.”
“Honor?” Phae asked, brushing a long strand of hair over her ear. “What do you mean?”
Tyrus glanced at her and did not answer her question. “It is important that we learn how to fight as a group. It is crucial that we understand each other’s abilities. We will not molest the Boeotians if they leave us alone. But if their hunting party attacks us, they will be surprised.” Tyrus cocked his head a moment, pausing as the others approached. “They have a strange ritual among them. Their leaders are always the fiercest warriors and they constantly challenge each other for supremacy. When they come, Paedrin will challenge their leader.”
A glow of excitement welled in Paedrin’s heart. That was exactly what he needed. “I would be honored.”
The glow turned sour when he saw Tyrus’s smirk. “I’m confident in your abilities, Paedrin, but I mean to tell them that you are our lowliest fighter. It will send a message through their ranks and to their chieftains that we are not to be trifled with. They will test us before committing all of their force. We will pass their test.”
It did not help Paedrin’s feelings that Hettie was smiling at Tyrus’s comment. She gave the Bhikhu a look, her expression revealing her unspoken words. Lowliest fighter?
“Very well, Tyrus,” Paedrin replied with as much dignity as he could muster in such a moment. “But I have a ploy that I need to warn you all about. The Sword of Winds contains a potent magic. It cannot be drawn from its sheath without triggering the effect. This is what happens. The stone set in the pommel glows, and anyone who sees it will become blinded and suffer terrible pain. These effects do wear off after many hours, and the pain is not without benefit. In some way, the magic strips away the need to use your eyes at all. When it happened to me at the Shatalin temple, I was able to see just as well with my eyes shut. My other senses were amplified and I still feel those effects even now. If the leader succumbs to the magic, it will be a quick victory, for the magic is quite painful.”
“Let me see it,” Tyrus said, holding out his hand. Paedrin swiveled the scabbard around from his sash and quickly untied it. He offered it to Tyrus, who examined the pommel and the stone embedded there.
