They were silent and tense at first as they rode along the dark trail, their Varadour powers rushing through their skin as they watched every direction simultaneously in black-and-white. Their faces were content, but their muscles tense, ready to leap onto solid ground at the first sign of trouble. The horses served more as a diversion than a mode of transportation, suggesting to the passerby they lacked the endurance to maintain a strong pace through the night.
They didn’t have to ride with me, Kaltor thought with a grateful smile. I just have to stay on the horse ‘til my leg’s useful. I know they hate riding as much as I do, and yet they stay by my side. They pulled strips of venison and dried fruit from their saddle bags as they rode, keeping their power fresh.
"Hey, look," Honmour said, pointing ahead. "How about we eat something we didn’t dry out a week ago?" A small thicket of pine trees and huckleberry bushes lined the side of the road.
"Sounds good to me," Kaltor replied contently. "They don’t look ripe yet, and we could use the practice," Watching the surrounding trees for signs of ambush, they approached the side of the road and leaned down to test the berries. They were indeed a few weeks off, still small and tart.
With a gentle stroke along the branches, they let a different type of energy flow from their skin and into the plant itself. At the same time, they poured a portion of their canteens on the plant’s roots and slowly, as the plant drew on the water with enhanced effectiveness, the berries matured. This plant-growing technique was used to prepare them for healing exercises. When dealing with a Stunt who could just as easily over-grow a wound as leave it infected, the gradual patience and control of plant growing served as an effective form of training.
After each had filled a travel pouch with the precious cargo, they continued their journey. "So, Kaltor," Jensai said as they rode down the dark trail, ducking occasionally to avoid overhanging branches. "Mind explaining a few things to us?"
"Like what?" Kaltor asked innocently, trying to pretend his insides didn’t feel like they were all trying to rush up his throat at the same time. Not the most appropriate time to try to fill one’s stomach. I should wait and see what they’ve managed to figure out already, he thought anxiously. Then I’ll —
Honmour’s gloved fist collided into the side of his head jokingly, cutting off his inner thoughts. "Oh I dunno, Saber," he said. Kaltor bristled more from the reference to his nickname as a Stunt than the actual blow. "Maybe you could tell us how, after all these years, you never thought we might like to know that the son of the king’s most trusted advisor was sparring with us."
Rolling his eyes emphatically, Kaltor groaned. "Yes, THAT would have gone over well. Hello, fellow student. Your daddy serves mine breakfast in bed. Want to be my friend? I wouldn’t have lived beyond a year."
Jensai leaned forward, glancing Honmour’s way. "Wasn’t that how you introduced yourself when you got here?"
"Actually," Honmour amended. "I promised to provide a taste of my father’s special seasoned duck recipe to whichever of you could steal Master Taneth’s keys to the wine cellar."
"Mmmm, good recipe," Jensai added. "Your shoulder ever stop aching, Kaltor?"
"Eventually," Kaltor admitted. "But I have to be careful when I heal back there. The muscles keep growing in the wrong direction," Master Taneth sure has some creative ideas for punishments, he thought. Who would have considered over-healing someone’s muscles to those extremes and leaving them to heal it themselves? He shuddered subconsciously and rubbed his shoulder.
Jensai’s expression turned more serious, remembering the event that brought them together. "I never said thank you, by the way."
"Considering the job you did on my leg," Kaltor said offhandedly, "I’d say you still owe me."
Honmour laughed. "Now that’s hardly fair," he accused. "Gereth totally miscalculated our combined power and over-grew your bone. Totally not our fault."
"Guess not," Kaltor said, trying to sound suspicious. It could have been mine, he admitted to himself. My Remnant power might have kicked in when I fell asleep and overrode all the other healing elements. I’ll have to ask Dad about that sometime.
"So, why does a son of a privileged family get sent off to become an assassin?" Jensai asked. "Your father doesn’t seem that patriotic or desperate for gold," Here we go, Kaltor thought. Can’t let them suspect my true nature.
"It helped my father impress the king when he first presented himself at the court," he lied. "Things have changed since then, but from here I’ll learn to protect them in the future and survive whatever I come across," How would they react if I told them the truth? he thought. I’m a Remnant, and assassin training was the perfect cover to both hide and prepare me.
"Correct me if I’m wrong," Honmour interrupted. "But did I hear your mother call you a relief-soldier?" Only the most unbalanced and combat-incapable Varadours were taught to focus completely on healing and relieving wounded during wartime.
"Well, she’s an important Peacebinder—" Kaltor let his words hang in the air, shrugging in embarrassment.
"Ah," Jensai muttered. "You and Gereth lied to her about your training so she’d agree to allow it. Do you really think you’ll be able to hide the truth of it from her? You took out two bandits from a sitting position—while wounded, even—won’t she suspect?"
"I think she knows something is out of place," Kaltor theorized. "But she’s so happy to be near me I don’t think she’ll figure it out this week."
Not sure what will happen when she realizes I’m being trained to assassinate, Kaltor thought. No honorable fighting on the battlefield, just avoiding notice and striking the heart or head. She will be very concerned for my eternal welfare.
He envisioned her and Gereth arguing, tensions rising ‘til one of them drew on their powers. I hope neither of them does something stupid.
"It can be hard keeping the peace within a family," Jensai said, eyes wandering down the road as his tone grew more distant. "If you need any help with that, let me know," Kaltor and Honmour exchanged confused glances to each other before turning toward their friend.
"Why are you here, Jensai?" Honmour asked. "You’re far too social to be content with a life in the shadows."
"Let’s just say it would be nice to stop by a village a few miles outside Shaylis if we can," Jensai said, fumbling with the reins and his words. "It’s been a while since— since I’ve seen them."
"‘Them’? Your family?" Kaltor pried.
Jensai nodded. "My father was a tracker for the town watch, helping the prince in Shaylis track down spies, bandits, and the like. There was an accident, and despite our best efforts he never fully recovered. He can’t feel anything from the waist down."
"I get it," Honmour said. "Master Taneth’s training is by invitation only, but if a trainer saw you fight and recommended you to Master Taneth—"
"The money I earn each year is enough for them to get by," Jensai said. "I’m the oldest, so once my sisters marry and can take some of the burden, I won’t need to keep doing this."
"‘Keep doing this’—" Kaltor said ominously. "The king doesn’t like to let go of Battleborn once we’ve completed our training. He’ll keep our blades sharp ‘til he can use us in a time of war. I’ve never heard of him allowing one to retire early."
Jensai shrugged carelessly. "It’s something to think about, at least."
I can understand that, Kaltor thought. Is that not what I’m planning once we find Keevan? Gereth followed power, and seemed to hope his son could replace the influence the king could wield on him. How would the king react when their family simply left and went after Keevan? Of course, they had to know the boy’s location first.
Only Varadours and Sight Seekers born to the nobility had any real freedom when it came to how they used their abilities. Of course, there was the occasional untrained one among the peasantry that refused the compensation (and control) of formal training. As long as they kept to themselves they were not harmed. Angering the wrong official, howe
ver, could bring an entire noble house’s power down on one’s self. It was a very precarious position for some.
Honmour leaned forward in his saddle to get a clear view of Jensai. "How old are your sisters?"
"Fourteen and sixteen."
"Could you intro —"
"No."
Honmour sighed. "How am I supposed to be prepared for EVERY possible situation when I haven’t even kissed a woman? It’s a serious lack in my education."
"I’ve seen you try and use that sword," Jensai said with a sly grin. "You might want to excel in that first or you won’t live to reach any other kind of situation. Bathing would help, too."
"We live in the mountains," Honmour said pointedly. "We go months without even seeing a girl. Hence the lack in education— and possibly hygiene."
"I thought you wanted to be prepared for EVERY possible situation?" Kaltor interjected. "What about a wandering damsel in the woods? Wouldn’t end well if you smelled like a viper hound’s intestines."
"Knowing my luck she’d be a Battlescorned," Honmour replied gloomily.
"Just don’t mention that idea to anyone else," Kaltor advised. "If they got wind of that plan they might just try it. Sneaking in a female Varadour into the camp would be dangerous for a lot of reasons," He bit his lip in a mixture of curiosity and anxiety.
Battlescorns were in many ways the opposite of Master Taneth’s training philosophy. They only took the strongest of Varadour women. These assassins specialized in seduction, poison, and political manipulation, while Taneth’s men were trained to deal with their problems much more— directly.
They rode in silence for another few minutes, the moon’s descent throwing deceptive shadows across the path as they drew closer to morning. Owls, bats, and other creatures of the night caught glimpses of them and took flight. Interesting how even the animals recognize the danger of a Varadour nearby, Kaltor thought. All except the viper hounds.
"We spoke with Master Taneth before we left," Honmour said, patting Kaltor on the back in an attempt to change the mood. "He says you’ll be the one giving orders on this trip."
Kaltor rolled his eyes. "Of course," he said. "It’s his punishment for letting Gereth experiment on me and drain you two," He bit his lip worriedly. I’ve never taken charge before. What happens if I make a mistake? By the Gods, what will I do if I get someone killed? His stomach churned a bit at the thought.
Relax, he finally consoled himself. This is little more than a protection detail. This isn’t like working on the front lines. All I’ll have to do is set up schedules for keeping watch on Gereth and Prince Melshek. It won’t even be a challenge— much less dangerous.
"Now, give us some credit," Jensai scoffed. "We’ve nearly recovered from our little healing session," The mass of energy within him doubled as he drew on more power to demonstrate, his mount prancing excitedly as some of his strength seeped into the creature.
"Why do you think he put Kaltor in charge?" Honmour asked.
"Didn’t you have your seventeenth birthday recently?" Jensai asked.
"Yes," Kaltor admitted with a long sigh.
"So, you should do it soon, huh? Blood Break, I mean," Honmour pried.
"Probably."
"Let me know what it’s like," Jensai said. "I want to be prepared."
"They say it hurts like nothing we’ve ever experienced," Honmour said. "But Master Taneth seems confident it could happen in a fight and not get you killed. Odd, huh?"
"Indeed," Kaltor grunted. Jensai and Honmour exchanged knowing looks and stopped prying. Blood Breaking, he thought. What will it be like when my power turns my blood corrosive? What will it feel like when I start to age twice as fast?
Most mature Battleborn had to shave, cut their hair, and trim their nails daily to account for the accelerated growth. Others, however, like his mother, never drew so deeply on their powers as to cause the Blood Break. But for an assassin, it was a necessity.
I could have feigned uselessness, he thought. I could have found a place here as a relief healer and lived a good, long life speeding others’ recovery at healer’s tents. Yet the very thought turned his stomach. It meant never drawing on what he really was as a Remnant, never summoning up that kind of power. It was strength his family would need, and probably soon, if war broke out on any of their borders.
Then there was the issue of his brother Keevan. Eventually word would leak out of his existence and every nation would send diplomats and assassins to deal with him— probably in that order. Kaltor would need to be more than a relief-soldier when the time came. He remembered vividly the night their powers had linked and, for a brief moment, he’d shared his power with Keevan’s. The warrior in him tingled at the thought of applying such unity in power and purpose during a fight.
So I’ll pay the price, then, he decided grimly. And I’ll Blood Break as my friends will when they turn seventeen. They would fight fiercely and gain prestige, glory, and honor. Their powers and training would set them apart from the rest of the world. But they would only have half a lifetime to enjoy it in.
Such was the fate of the Battleborn.
But what of the fate of Remnants?
Chapter 5