Children of Prophecy (14 page)

“You have no
right
to even
consider
betrothing me to that
slime
Shel’nart,” Brea retorted.

Kelt’s face hardened. “I have the
right
to marry you to anyone I choose,” he told her flatly. “You will
not
speak ill of your intended.”

Brea faced her father squarely. “Father, I am a
Mage
,” she reminded him. “The only person who decides who I marry is
me
. You don’t have that authority, and I will
not
,
ever
, marry Shel’nart. If you need someone to whore for your political alliances, do it yourself.”

Even as she said it, Brea knew the last sentence was going too far. Kelt’arhn lunged to his feet, upsetting his chair. His face was red with anger. “I am your father and I am your High King!” he bellowed, his calm deserting him. “You
will
obey me in this.”

Brea locked gazes with him, her fear swept away by a cold fury. “No. I won’t,” she replied coldly. “The Council of Seven will back me, for you seek to deny one of the oldest rights of a Mage.” She felt her voice slide to the temperature of ice. “Will you truly alienate your strongest allies to
try
and force me into this?” Kelt began to move towards her fiercely, but stopped as she slid unconsciously into a combat stance. “I would rather
die
than be a whore for
your
alliance.”

If the door had still been intact, she would have broken it down with her bare hands.

Brea entered the practice grounds, passing through on her way to meet her
Jelt’nar
teacher. The
salle
for the unarmed combat disciplines took up a quarter of the grounds, the rest being dedicated to training with weapons.

A flash of movement drew her eye, and she glanced towards it. Glancing into one of the smaller
salles
, intended for one-on-one practice duels or general practice, she saw Tal. He was dressed in the exact same style of plain black tunic she’d always seen him in, running through a
kata
with his longsword.

The motions he went through seemed familiar and strange at the same time. For a moment she thought it was an exercise she recognized, one of the most basic exercises of the
Tal’var
, but then she began to notice the differences. For one thing, he was moving
much
faster than the novices she’d seen going through that exercise. For another, the motions were different. It was difficult to tell, because of the speed and the subtlety of the motions, but they were. She realized that she’d never seen the exercise he was performing – and that it was probably a lot more difficult than she might think.

Tal suddenly stopped. He lowered his blade and turned towards her. Brea saw him smile slightly and beckon her over. She returned the smile with a regal nod of her own, and joined him.

“What’s with the stormclouds?” he asked.

Brea looked at him in confusion. “What?”

“Brea, you look like a storm about to break on some poor bastard,” he observed with a gentle smile. “What’s wrong?”

She sighed and shook her head slightly. “It’s my father,” she said shortly. “I can’t really talk about it.”
That,
at least, was clear in Brea’s mind. No matter how good a friend Tal was becoming, he wasn’t family. She would keep family squabbles in the family for as long as possible.

Tal nodded. “I think I understand.” He seemed to hesitate, then reached out and gripped her shoulder gently. “If you need someone to talk to about it, though,” he told her with a small shrug, “I’m sure you can find me.”

She began to smile at him, comforted by his words.

“And just
what
do you think you’re doing with
my
betrothed?” a voice suddenly snapped from behind them. The two youths spun to face the door, where Shel’nart stalked in, an ugly look on his face.

Tal’s hand fell from Brea’s shoulder as he looked to her. “Betrothed?” he asked, his eyebrow doing that
damn
arching thing again.

“In his dreams, and in
hell
,” she snapped. She turned to Shel’nart. “Get lost, Shel. We are not betrothed, and never
will
be.”

“I, and both our fathers, disagree, I’m afraid,” Shel told her, smiling condescendingly, then grabbed her arm in a vice-tight grip. “Now, my dear intended, we must go. There are people who must hear the good news.”

Brea struggled to break Shel’s grip, but he’d chosen his leverage well. “Get your filthy hands off me, you misbegotten bastard son of an ape,” she snarled.

“You’re coming with me, Brea,” Shel said, his voice twisted with
something
, either rage or lust, Brea didn’t know – or want to know – which.

Brea began to pull away from Shel, swinging around to bring a leg to bear against his. Then Shel was suddenly no longer holding her arm, but was nearly two meters away, against the wall.

“I think not,” another voice said coldly. Brea had forgotten about Tal, and so, apparently, had Shel. Now he stepped forward to stand next to Brea, facing the man his magic had just thrown across the room. Brea felt something different in his aura, a…
focus
, was the right word, she guessed.

“The lady asked you to unhand her,” Tal told the noble, his voice almost conversational. “She shouldn’t have needed to even ask once.”

“Just what the
hell
do you think you’re doing?” Shel snarled.

“Protecting a friend,” Tal retorted. Brea saw his hand settle on his sword hilt. “I’d suggest you stay away from the lady, ape.” He followed up Brea’s earlier insult without even pausing.

Shel pulled himself to his feet. “I demand satisfaction!” he snarled, his voice ringing harshly in Brea’s ears. “I demand that you meet me with steel, no magic, no tricks. Just you and me with steel in our hands.”

Tal simply shrugged. Turning to face Brea, he knelt. “My Lady Initiate Brea’ahrn,” he said formally, “I request your permission to fight this man in your name and for you honor.”

Brea hesitated. She
knew
Shel’nart was a very good swordsman. However, she’d seen Tal performing his exercises, and knew that he, too, was very good. Her eyes met Tal’s.
He offered. I never asked, but he offered to do what I cannot do myself.
She nodded regally.

“My lord and friend, Initiate Tal’raen,” she replied, quietly formal herself, “I accept you as my Champion in this. You fight for my honor.”

Tal smiled at her, then returned to his feet, facing Shel’nart. “I accept your challenge,” he said flatly, “and will meet you for Princess Brea’ahrn.”

His face turned slightly pale by a clearly unexpected turn of events, Shel’nart nodded anyway. Challenge could not be withdrawn once made. “So be it.” The words fell into the quiet of the small
salle
like millstones.

“You two
can’t
do this!” the Armsmaster exclaimed. “You’re too young.”

“Challenge has been issued and accepted, old man,” Shel’nart responded. “We will meet. You can’t stop us.”

The old warrior’s eyes glanced from Shel to Tal, and then to Brea. He locked eyes with her for a moment, and she returned his gaze calmly. How she managed to do it with the turmoil inside her she didn’t know, but she did it.

He shook his head. “You damn fools,” he told them harshly. “You’re right, I can’t stop you. But I
can
limit you. This duel ends at first blood, no more. Understood?”

Tal nodded, and then Shel followed more angrily.

The Armsmaster shook his head again, but led them to a small secondary practice field. A few gestures cleared it of the handful of Kingsmen training there. Another directed Shel’nart to the other end.

Brea stood there, somehow controlling her turmoil as she watched the two men, her friend and her enemy, face each other across the packed dirt of the training field.

They both began warm-up exercises. She recognized Shel’s exercise as the one most commonly used by Vishnean knights. Tal’s was the same as it had been when she’d seen him earlier.

She glanced over to the Armsmaster, to find him staring at Tal with a suddenly white face. A moment later, he walked quietly forward to Tal’s side.

Brea followed closely enough that she heard what he said. “Don’t hurt him too badly, milord,” the Armsmaster asked, his voice nearly begging. “He may be a fool, but he has potential.”

Tal’s response sounded distant and cold, as if he was distracted somehow. “You said first blood,” he said simply. “First blood it will be.”

The Armsmaster nodded. He looked unsatisfied with that answer, but withdrew anyway.

Brea faced him as he returned. “Why are you worried about
Shel
?” she demanded. “He’s a
Tal’var
of the Seventh Circle.” Most soldiers and knights would not achieve Seventh until they were full adults, likely not till their twentieth year at the earliest. For most, Seventh was as high as they would reach, but Shel had it now, at sixteen, and looked to continue studying the sword.

The old warrior looked at Brea sadly. “He should learn to pick his challenges more carefully,” he said quietly.

“Why?” Brea hissed.

“You saw that exercise Tal was doing?” he asked. Once Brea nodded in response to his question, he continued: “That exercise is only taught to swordsmen of the Ninth Circle and above.”

The Ninth?
She stared at the Armsmaster in shock. There were only twelve Circles. To hold Ninth at fifteen… was unheard of.

Tal faced Shel’nart across the dueling field. Both youths had their swords drawn and out in front of them. Neither blade wavered.

The longswords were slightly curved, designed to aid in a slashing cut, the only kind possible from the back of a horse. The weapons were designed with cavalry in mind, but
Tal’var
training taught just as much about fighting on foot as on horseback. After all, a knight never knew when he’d be dismounted, and he wanted to have at least
some
chance.

Tal’s mind focused on the two blades and his opponent. Everything else, from who his opponent was to why he was fighting, was out of the focus. It was there, known, even important – but it wasn’t a distraction. It was an ability that aided both in magic and swordsmanship, and one very few who used either bothered to truly master. Tal had.

The Armsmaster gestured Tal and Shel to advance and Tal did. As he walked, he slowly deactivated every one of his magics. There were half a dozen spells he kept on all the time, one of them his warning net. He’d promised no magic, though, so he would use no magic.

He reached the center of the field, and raised the Islander blade to cross it with Shel’s even fancier weapon. The Armsmaster raised an amulet and looked at it. No glow marred its surface. “There is no magic here. It is a contest of men and wills, not spells. They fight to first blood.”

The Master lowered the crystal, and the two youths stepped back, lowering their swords to position. He nodded to them. “Begin.”

Tal raised his sword to guard and held it there. Shel did the same, and Tal watched him move. In his focus, he noted every muscle twitch, every slight gesture. Shel threw him a mocking grin, but Tal ignored it, lost in his focus.

Shel’s grin turned to a snarl, but he paused. No swordsman liked to strike first. Tal remained motionless, sword held at guard. Without even thinking of it, he let an easy grin spread across his face.

Shel struck. His blade lashed out faster than any eye could follow. Tal remained motionless to the last second, and then moved swiftly and smoothly out of the way. Shel’s blade smashed into the ground, digging into the dirt of the field.

Tal’s blade flashed out once, the blued steel carving a line down the side of Shel’s face. Before the cut could even begin to bleed, the Islander-forged sword flashed down the other side, slashing a line down the other side of the noble’s face.

Blood began to trickle from the two wounds almost simultaneously, and Tal stepped back. He raised his sword in salute to Shel as he allowed his focus to fade, then turned to the Armsmaster. “First blood has been shed,” he said flatly, “This duel is over.”

Lowering the blade from salute, he sheathed it and left the field.

Tal knocked on the solid wooden door hesitantly. He knew perfectly well that he was late for his lesson with Shej’mahi. He’d taken the time to clean his sword and clothes.

“Come in, Tal,” a voice from inside ordered.

He entered the room quietly, shifting his sword on his hip to avoid hitting the door with it. He glanced around the room.