The Brightest Shadow, page 65
"Hmm. Well, that's alright then. I was the one confused." Yet Balunel's frown deepened and he played more quickly.
Slaten hadn't been planning to use it, but he found himself reaching for the mental technique Tani had taught him, trying to ignore the unpleasant music entirely. The edges of his sein began fraying instead of flowing back into himself, but his technique was mostly correct. Just as he was starting to feel successful, Hanfel stepped up to stand in front of him.
The man pulled back and slammed a fist into his chest, knocking Slaten backward. Before he could land on his bad leg, Hanfel grabbed him by the shoulder and lifted him into the air. Hanfel was a shorter man, so it was awkward to hold him that way, but Hanfel stopped his momentum before lowering Slaten to the ground.
Immediately Slaten winced and held his chest. He could practically feel each of the man's knuckles marking his body. His technique had held instead of shattering, but it hadn't mattered much. If Hanfel had struck him seriously, he'd be dealing with broken ribs and perhaps damage to his heart as well. All he could do was try to build his defenses again despite the music undermining him.
"You're not bad," Hanfel said. "But this isn't a good use of your talent. This merger might save your life, but it will definitely be inferior to an art that has been refined over time. Dozens of generations of knights have perfected the Internal Sapphire Armor, for example, and true geniuses helped to construct the Mountain Cloak technique. Better to take what you've learned and apply it toward a real skill."
Slaten struggled to speak through the pain and the distraction, though it was getting easier. "I have no doubt those honored skills are superior. But unless you are offering, I have no one to instruct me in them."
"I use the Mountain Cloak myself, but I don't know that I have the time to teach you. Balunel, do you have something for him?" The older man just hummed to himself and continued playing. After a time, Hanfel sighed and looked back to Slaten. "Look, kid, I'm the last person who would tell you that you need to stick to a single discipline. But you want-"
"You are?" Slaten looked at him curiously and Hanfel shrugged.
"Guess I haven't mentioned it, but I'm half-Coran and half-Nol. Not welcome either place, believe me. The point is, I can take from both without merging them. Coran wrestling is stronger than people think, but I stick to Nol's martial arts. When it comes to strength, I follow Corah's traditions completely. If I tried to mix either one of those with other skills, I'd just end up with a weaker version."
"I understand what you're saying. Thank you for the instruction."
"Oh, it's not a problem. I was down here to help Melal anyway."
"Thank you both, elders." Slaten bowed respectfully, getting only a nod from Hanfel and nothing at all from Balunel. At least his harp music had faded away, allowing Slaten to relax his defenses. He felt surprisingly tired and his chest ached, yet he thought that he'd learned something. From the manner in which his sein had given way, he could improve the flow.
Whether or not that was an entirely lost cause, he wasn't sure. Slaten would be happy to learn from those wiser than him, it just seemed unlikely that he would be allowed to learn a refined art like the ones Hanfel mentioned. Such traditional arts also tended to require years of preparation before they showed their true effects, and he risked death if he didn't accomplish more now.
When he turned to leave, he found Celivia leaning on the wall beside the exit. She spoke before he could greet her. "It might seem arrogant to contradict people stronger and more skilled than I am, but I think they're wrong."
"Oh?" Slaten leaned carefully on his crutch to preserve his strength.
"Yes, there are many skills that have been refined over time and mastering them would grant you great strength. But it isn't possible to perfect any art, because how can perfection be static? Is every person identical, with the same body and sein? Even being trained in the same tradition, there will be differences. Your own skills may be less polished, but they are designed precisely for you."
That was sacrilege compared to the usual teachings of Oken elders, but Slaten found himself nodding in agreement. Celivia wouldn't have said something just to encourage him, so she must have meant it as honest advice. "Thank you, I will consider that. You think I should continue as I have, then?"
"If you get a chance to learn one of those traditional defensive skills, definitely do so. But for now, stick to what you know." Celivia cast him a brief smile. "I miss our training. If Elima won't attack me for it, we should start up again."
"I think I'll be able to soon." Slaten smiled back at her, but further conversation was interrupted by a roar.
Melal stood in the center of the chamber, numerous rings of stone held up on each arm. Sein flowed violently within him and, more alarmingly, his eyes shone starkly white. He grunted toward Walernel, breaking the young man out of his awed daze.
"Boy! Pick up one of those practice swords and hit me!"
"Really? But..." Walernel still hastened to obey him, picking up the heavy wooden sword. "Should I really...?"
"Do it! Right in the stomach!"
Walernel shifted his hands on his sword, then struck forward. Weak, but his form was correct. The wooden blade struck Melal's chest and he didn't even grunt. After a moment of surprise, the boy grinned and struck again, stabbing out into Melal's stomach and again doing nothing. He tried stronger and stronger blows until one actually knocked the blade from his hands.
"Incredible!" Walernel stared at him in awe. "You're as strong as a Catai!"
That was nowhere near true, but Slaten didn't have the strength to argue. The soft light from the sein spheres on the walls seemed to have become harsh and white. Melal dropped the rings of stone with a loud crash and stood tall in the center of the chamber, chest heaving.
"Very good." Hanfel gave him an appreciative clap on the shoulder. "You've mastered much of the skill."
"No, this is something new," Melal declared. "Nothing like that stupid skill Narenel used against me. I'll name this the Internal Golden Armor!"
Walernel gasped. "You developed a new skill? That's incredible!"
"That's to be expected! I am the Hero, after all!"
"The Hero!" Though Walernel gasped the title, there was no questioning in his voice. He believed it, and in that moment he believed in Melal utterly. Even Hanfel seemed impressed, while Balunel had turned away, tuning his harp and muttering to himself.
Slaten didn't have the strength to think about it. He started to walk away, intending to go back to the infirmary and stop thinking. Before he could shut down, he realized that Celivia had come to walk alongside him. "You look unhappy."
"You think so?" Slaten felt a current of shame to speak so unpleasantly, but felt more frustration than shame. "I've been working for so long, and in a few days, Melal just..." He cut off bitterly, tilting toward shame as other thoughts came to mind. "I'm sorry. I know that this is nothing compared to what so many other people have endured."
"It's good that you know that."
"I apologize. It's just... this is all I have."
"I wasn't judging you, Slaten." Celivia stepped closer to him with a strange expression on her face, almost touching him. After a long pause in which it seemed that she was about to say something, she shook her head. "You're more than training and fighting, Slaten. Don't give up."
With that, she left him there in the corridor. Slaten looked after her for a time, then moved in a different direction. While not exactly encouraged, he didn't think that he would shut down when he got back to the infirmary. He still found himself limping as he walked.
~ ~ ~
At last Slaten couldn't justify spending any more time in the infirmary. Though it had been a good change of pace to develop without sparring, he felt as though if he went any longer, he would lose his edge. After Elima checked his leg one last time, he said farewell to the healers and left.
The other primary reason he wanted to go was that he had understood enough of his new sein that he dared to approach Graenin. He probably only had one chance to convince the Estronese man, so part of him wanted to prepare as long as possible. But based on what Destrela had been hinting, he thought time was limited. If he didn't take a risk, he would wait too long.
As one of the resistance's strongest warriors, Graenin had his own rooms separated from the main quarters. Slaten had discovered them during his exploration of the tunnels and now headed directly there to meet with him. The door was covered only by a curtain and there was no way to knock on stone, so Slaten leaned inside.
"Graenin?"
His first thought was that the chambers were empty, though he couldn't see into the shadows of the second room. He saw a worktable near him with several sein spheres lying broken across the surface. An armchair with several books stacked on it sat in another corner beside a bookshelf. Slaten's eyes kept scanning until he found the bed, which was covered in rumpled sheets.
More importantly, Veron lay in those sheets. She pushed herself up, making it very clear that she wasn't wearing anything underneath - Slaten averted his eyes. "Oh, hey, Slaten. You wanted to talk to Graenin?"
"I did. Would you please put on a shirt or cover yourself?"
"Nah. You want to stay, you'll have to deal with it."
Something in her tone was more than simple mockery. Slaten looked back, locking his gaze on her eyes. "Are you trying to get rid of me?"
"Maybe." Veron drawled out the word with a grin and then turned back toward the other room. "I don't think he's leaving. He's a stubborn one."
Graenin emerged from the shadows of the back room, cursing under his breath. He came to face Slaten and folded his arms within his robe. "I have more important things to be doing than throwing diamonds before mudmen. Wasn't my previous lesson enough?"
"You can judge that for yourself." Slaten raised his hand and let his sein flow down it, extending the strength beyond his palm. More than that, he tried to make it affect the world. After so long working on the skill, he could feel it shifting, but it drained most of what he had in him. Eventually his palm began to flicker blue and Graenin raised his eyebrows.
"You've put a great deal of time into this. Why?"
"Marginally more strength or stamina won't be a significant advantage for me," Slaten said. "But if I can acquire a different skill to use all my sein efficiently, it would benefit me even if I never master it."
"Hmph. I suppose you're not just a thug after all." Graenin walked closer and looked at his palm briefly before shaking his head. "But this blue light... that isn't good, it's a sign of incompetence."
Veron had pulled a sheet around herself, though she still sprawled backward on the bed. "What, and green is better?"
"The color is irrelevant, merely a byproduct of the nature of one's sein. What matters is that this light is wasteful."
"And yours isn't?"
Graenin sniffed. "There is a difference. His power is being wasted as useless light, whereas the majority of mine is focused power and only a minority escapes. Do you really intend to just lie there while I teach him?"
"Yeah, I'm good here." Veron sat back to watch, so Graenin sighed. Meanwhile, Slaten was focused on the conversation, trying to choose his first question.
"I could tell that my light was nothing like yours, but I wasn't sure as to why. Is the difference more than just power?"
"Oh, unquestionably more. Come over here and observe." Graenin walked to the worktable and waved his hand toward one of the slightly cracked spheres. It lit without him touching it, a trick that Slaten had never even attempted. "You see the light being expelled? It is not sein, merely the influence of sein on the world. Useful, if your goal is to illuminate a room. What you gathered in your palm... well, it is not so useful unless your goal is to shine a light on your enemy."
"I understand what you mean, but I'm not sure I understand what I'm doing wrong."
"In this, you are no fool. I cannot count how many young warriors master the basics of sky sein and immediately try to throw great spheres of light or fireballs or all matter of nonsense. They think that the flashier a skill is, the more power it must have." He gave a snort of disgust. "In fact, in most cases, the more dramatic the appearance, the more power is being wasted on useless light."
Slaten nodded understanding. "You want all the force of your body to be applied to the opponent. There is a similar principle with unnecessary movements in swordplay."
"What you are considering now is far more complex... but yes, the principle is similar. At least you avoided one bad habit: many novices waste huge amounts of energy as heat. Your sein is completely cold, so at least your training so far hasn't been worthless. You're never going to master the full light spectrum of sein, but you aren't hopeless."
"The most I had hoped to do was understand a single technique that would allow me to strike at range."
"You could learn such, but first you will need to adapt your normal flow of sein to such a skill, otherwise it would take far too much concentration to be used in a real battle. There are many pitfalls to such a path as well." Graenin shook his head. "There are idiot schools of fighting in Onel Chaentan that actually draw sein into an aura around themselves, wasting fathomless amounts of it into the air. But if you listen well, you can avoid such dead ends and become more than a mere mudman."
"Not to interrupt," Veron said, "but we have a voyeur."
They turned and found Destrela leaning in the doorway, watching them with a look of mild distaste. She glanced at Veron when she spoke. "Says the woman who won't even get dressed."
Veron shrugged. "Why?"
"I'm not here to waste time." Destrela turned back to them, casting only a brief glance at Slaten's leg before looking to Graenin. "We have a chance to hit one of the most important cities they captured, but only if we draw off the bulk of them with another assignment. I'll need both of you."
Graenin frowned. "Now? The boy needs to focus on grasping the basics of his new skills, or what little talent he has will be wasted."
"Not immediately. I'm not sure when. Not more than thirty days. But get ready. All of you." With that, Destrela backed out and vanished into the dark corridor.
Slaten took a deep breath and closed his eyes. His time of recovery and training was clearly over.
Chapter 49
-
"As for the Dark Lord himself, no such being appears to exist aside from rumors among the Deathspawn. I believe that once the Hero has gathered his companions and defeated all of the Deathspawn masters, the Dark Lord himself will descend from the night to do battle with him. At that moment, there will be nothing any of us can do but stand in awe and await the Legend's end."
- excerpt from a letter written by Lady Karerela of East Corah
-
Tani sat beside the camp with her arms around her legs, watching the fight and wondering if this had been a good idea. On one hand, it was unquestionably more interesting to have both Narenel and Slaten with her group. But she'd underestimated how much swordsmen could talk about swords. Narenel had noticed and tried to keep the conversation to sein techniques she could appreciate, but they also spent a lot of time discussing the details of swordplay.
They were sparring at that moment, Narenel holding back to keep the fight fair. Even to her eyes, the difference between their styles was clear: Narenel's strikes included more thrusts while Slaten used sweeping cuts. Both very direct and dangerous, however, making it interesting just to watch them, at least for a while. Eventually she'd throw in some knives and see how they reacted to that.
But before she could reach that point, Veron showed up and jerked a thumb over her shoulder. "Let's move, kids. You need to see this."
There was no trace of joking in the woman's voice, so Tani hopped up to her feet and checked her knives. Narenel and Slaten stopped sparring, put away their blades, and joined them. Veron headed away from camp at a swift pace, not glancing to the sides. Tani looked and saw the others mostly just working, though Melal had gotten up and was looking at them curiously.
"We're not taking anyone else?" Tani asked. Veron shook her head.
"We need people who can scout first. You'll see when we get there." With that, she began to run, forcing the others to struggle to catch up to her.
It seemed clear that they were headed for the village near their camp, one that was allied with them and allegedly one of the targets of Aryabaus's depredations. Tani had visited several days ago and it had seemed unremarkable, just a convenient place from which the resistance could operate. Surely it couldn't have been attacked, since they would have noticed and gone to assist.
Yet as they drew closer, Tani knew deep in her bones that something was wrong. Something about the inactivity in the village, an oddity about the shape of the houses. She narrowed her eyes and focused her senses forward. It was nothing dramatic, but her deepened sein could sharpen her vision until she could-
Tani stumbled, nearly falling entirely.
By the time she regained her balance, they had come even closer. The others saw as well, coming to a halt. Tani was dimly aware of the fact that Hanfel was approaching them from the village, but could barely focus on him, not compared to the sight in front of her.
The villagers had been spitted atop the houses, some impaled through the chest on short spears, some with the shafts pushed through their entire bodies. Judging from the blood and the torn hands of some, they had been alive when they were impaled. Yet there was no sign of a struggle throughout the rest of the village, just the corpses mounted atop the houses.
"This isn't the only place." Hanfel reached them with a grim expression. "I'd heard rumors, but I had always discounted them. Having seen this, I assume they were true. Aryabaus is hitting villages that work with us and killing everyone."
"Do you think he's torturing them for information?" Veron moved closer, examining the bodies seriously.
"It's difficult to tell, but here, I don't think anyone was interrogated. Just killed, to send a message."
