“According to the map, we should reach Temeron before noon,” he said.
It had taken more than a month for them to cross Nevaisser and the Groziks before descending into Loden. Although he would never show it to his brother, Tyne was excited at the prospect of seeing the Stravad capital. Even more enticing was the fact that Tyne would stay in Temeron while his brother undertook an important journey. This journey might be many months in duration. For that entire time, Tyne was expected to learn all he could from the Stravad and then return with his brother to Chernow for his manhood ceremony.
The Nazar looked up from his work. “You’re correct, but we’ll wait outside of Temeron for nightfall.”
“Why?” This entire journey had been hasty and secretive. The Nazar and the council had fought over it; the council demanding the Nazar stay in Chernow where he belonged and the Nazar emphatic about leaving. The Nazar had won out through sheer tenacity and a current of apprehension had gone through the entire order.
The Nazarien didn’t want their Nazar going to Temeron. Why exactly, Tyne had no idea and he wasn’t about to question it. Since their journey had begun, his brother had given him no information whatsoever. He had been preoccupied and short tempered.
Once he’d even apologized to Tyne for what he termed a black mood. Tyne didn’t expect an apology and he didn’t expect his brother to answer his questions. It had been an honor simply to be chosen as his brother’s travelling companion. Tyne knew a great many young men who were envious, many young men who probably deserved the honor more than he did.
“We need to enter the city in secret. It’s necessary that the Stravad Leader not know we are there until it’s absolutely unavoidable.”
Tyne wanted to ask why again, but decided it wasn’t a good idea. “Do you want me to pack our gear?”
His brother lifted his eyes and regarded the younger man steadily. “There’s no hurry. Why don’t you wander down to the creek and bathe? I’ll join you in a few moments.”
Tyne nodded, suppressing an urge to smile, and rose. He didn’t need a second urging to go swimming. Nazarien warriors seldom got an opportunity for recreation and Tyne was still young enough to desire it.
They bathed as the sun rose on a new day and then lay on the bank, enjoying the rare quiet of the moment. Tyne stared about him at a landscape unlike any he’d ever known before. Nevaisser wasn’t a lush region of land, most of it arid. Many times in the last few years, Tyne had accompanied his brother to Terra Antiguo. The valley of Talar Eldralin’s dream was the only lush, verdant place Tyne had ever seen, but even it didn’t compare to Loden.
His brother had told him the Boline Plain was the most arid land in Loden, stretching from the foot of the Grozik to Zelan in the south and Temeron in the North; still it was covered in grasses and brush, and teeming with animals. Since he and his brother had crossed onto the Lodenian side of the Groziks, they’d never gone hungry. Game was as abundant as were roots and water. Their horses had begun to put on weight.
Tyne looked down at his bronze stomach and patted it. He’d begun to put on weight. More importantly, his shoulders had broadened and his waist narrowed. He was proud of his toned muscles and knew someday he’d be as strong a warrior as his brother was.
He shifted his gaze to his brother as he lay on the bank, one arm over his eyes to shield out the sun. The Nazar was still a young man in Stravad years. He was one of the most decorated warriors in the order and his taut, slender body showed it. Where other men his brother’s age had begun to put on weight, the Nazar’s muscles were honed and defined. His shoulders were broad, his hips narrow, and his smooth, effortless stride belied his tall stature. The Nazar was the fastest, most agile warrior in Chernow. He could still disarm men half his age and it was an honor to train beside him.
Tyne’s eyes traced the scars along his brother’s body. They showed white against the deep bronze of his skin – one beneath his sword arm and a second deep one in his right side. There were other minor scars across his back and flat stomach, one even passing across both of his lips, but each one only added that much honor to his fighting ability and gave evidence that he was a proven warrior.
Tyne looked down on his own untried body, noting the disturbing absence of scars to mar his bronze flesh. Soon, however, he’d be a man, able to participate in the sword contests during Valhall, and finally, to ride into battle beside his brother and the rest of his order. Soon Tyne would have battle scars to prove his prowess and a history to mark each one.
The Nazar sat up and gazed across the trickling creek, then lifted his eyes to the sun. He turned and regarded Tyne. “We have a little time left before we need to move on. Get your staff and mine, and let’s practice.”
Tyne leapt to his feet and raced through the tall brush toward camp. He had been chosen from among many young men to train with the Nazar. The Nazar only selected ten young men each year to train beside him and the honor was great. To further the honor, the Nazar had granted Tyne private hours where there was no one else vying for his attention.
He caught up the two staffs and raced back toward the creek, excitement and pleasure pounding in his breast. Since the journey had begun, his brother hadn’t once suggested they practice. Tyne wasn’t about to allow the opportunity to slip past him.
When he reached the creek, he found that his brother had risen and pulled on his trousers, his chest still bare. Tyne dropped the staffs and while his brother began stretching, Tyne slipped into his own trousers. Buckling his belt over his slender waist, Tyne moved in front of his brother and began stretching.
No Nazarien would ever practice or go into battle without preparing both his body and mind. Not only did a Nazarien warrior stretch out taut muscles, he also gave thanks to Eldon for another opportunity to utilize his skill. Tyne had never shirked this duty and now he allowed his eyes to drop closed while he went through the routine in his mind.
After a few moments had passed, he opened his eyes and found his brother watching him, the familiar play of amusement in his blue eyes. Tyne surveyed his opponent as he’d been taught to do. The Nazar was half a head taller than he was, his shoulders broader, his reach longer, but Tyne knew that soon he’d match the older man’s size.
The four medallions glimmered in his brother’s ear – the first marking his alliance as a guardsmen of Terra Antiguo; the second, the Star of Eldon signifying his passage into manhood; the third, the scythe of the Nazarien; and the fourth, the falcon medallion pledging him as Nazar. The sun glinted off his brother's black hair and danced in his eyes, bathing each muscle with warmth.
Tyne drew a deep breath and bent, never taking his eyes off his opponent. His hands closed over the two staffs and he lifted them, tossing one to his brother. His brother caught the staff and twirled it around in his hands until he had a tight, easy grip. Tyne wanted to impress the Nazar with a similar move, but he hadn’t quite got it right, so he simply passed his hands along the length of the wood until he found the right purchase.
“It’s been a long time. Have you remembered all the defense steps?” asked the Nazar, moving into a practiced crouch like a cat.
Tyne edged around, trying to stay on the balls of his feet as he’d been taught. “I remember them and maybe this time, I’ll plant you on your back.”
The Nazar expected his pupil to brag. Part of winning a battle was the psychological advantage one opponent had over the other. Bragging was a good way to show confidence and security in one’s skill.
With a speed that had surprised many a man, the Nazar moved in and leveled a blow at Tyne’s head. Tyne stepped into it and parried it with the edge of his staff, trying to throw his weight into the larger man. The Nazar planted his feet shoulder width apart and stopped, locking the two staffs in such a way that if Tyne pulled back, he’d fall. Tyne’s eyes widened in surprise and he pushed forward to keep his footing.
“Now what, young braggart?” asked the Nazar.
Tyne struggled with the larger man, se
arching for a weakness. His mind whirled over all the defensive steps he knew, but he couldn’t remember one that applied to such a situation.
A smile touched the corners of the Nazar’s mouth and he deftly unlocked his staff from his brother’s. Tyne stumbled and fell, landing on his rear end. He looked up at the Nazar in shock and shame, but the Nazar knelt beside him.
“Never step into an over-handed blow. Which is my dominant side?”
Tyne narrowed his eyes. The question was a trick. His brother was one of few warriors who fought equally strong with either his right or his left arm, but he favored the right one. During training, however, he often changed just to throw his pupil off.
Tyne reviewed the attack in his mind. “Your left,” he said, trying to sound confident.
The Nazar nodded. “So which side should you play into under such a circumstance?”
“Your right,” he said and received another affirming nod.
The Nazar held out his arm and Tyne grasped it, allowing himself to be hauled to his feet. They backed away from each other, testing their hold on their staffs, and the Nazar inclined his head.
“This time pay close attention to my dominant side. Don’t allow me to lock your staff with my own.”
Tyne crouched and readied himself. Again the Nazar led with his left and Tyne moved swiftly and purposefully toward the right. Rarely did he need to learn the same lesson twice.
* * *
They pulled their horses to a stop outside the gates of Temeron. Tyne’s body ached with weariness, but he could barely contain the anticipation that coursed through him at the sight of the Stravad capital. All his life he’d wanted to see Temeron and now here he was with his brother, the man he admired more than any other, perhaps even more than he had admired his own father.
He shifted his eyes to his brother’s face. The Nazar was staring intently at the gates, his jaw clenched and his hands tightening into fists on the reins. Tyne frowned. He’d never seen such a play of emotion in his brother before and it startled him.
“Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” he said in a strangely tight voice and his eyes shifted away, scanning the gates once more. “There are just so many memories associated with this place. Some I’d purposefully forgotten.”
His brother rarely spoke of his life before coming to the Nazarien. Tyne knew about his life as a Terrian guardsman, but there was a gap that Tyne noticed between when he left Terra Antiguo and returned to Chernow to begin his training as Nazar. What had happened in that gap, Tyne didn’t know nor did anyone else tell him. To have asked his brother or father would have been folly and he knew it.
“Aren’t we going in?”
“Yes, soon, but let me have a moment before we do.”
Tyne nodded, thankful he hadn’t angered his brother with his childish questions. He didn’t mean to be so inquisitive. It was a trait the Nazarien shunned, but he was still young, not yet a man, and they were more tolerant of such errant behavior in a child. Tyne knew his brother was more tolerant than most and rarely did he chastise him, even at his most inquisitive.
Finally his brother drew a deep breath and straightened in the saddle, thrusting back his shoulders. Tyne admired the figure his brother cut on the stallion’s back and he tried to imitate it, although his chest wasn’t yet as broad as the Nazar’s.
They rode toward the gate and a guard met them, dressed in a forest green uniform with a bright medallion pinned to his breast. Tyne was astonished when the man smiled at them and spoke in the Lodenian tongue. No Nazarien warrior would smile when greeting a stranger, no Nazarien warrior ever smiled once he took the pledge of manhood.
The Nazar answered him in the same language, swinging down from his saddle to the cobblestones of the gatehouse. Tyne concentrated on the words as he also dropped to the ground. He knew Lodenian, had been taught it since he was a young child, but he hadn’t had much chance to practice it, except in a structured setting. The only true practice he’d had was in Terra Antiguo when his brother took him.
The guard moved away from them and his brother turned. “From now on we will speak in Lodenian to each other, not Nazarien. People become suspicious if you speak a language they don’t understand.”
Tyne nodded, understanding the logic behind his brother’s statement, but he wasn’t sure that he remembered enough Lodenian to speak fluently. He didn’t want to appear foolish.
As if he’d read Tyne’s thoughts, his brother placed a hand on his shoulder. “You’ll speak just fine once you have an opportunity to do so.”
Tyne dropped his eyes, glad for the reassurance. His own father would never have thought of Tyne’s discomfort or concerns before his own, but his brother always did, always offered some sort of comfort.
One of the enormous gates was pushed open and the Nazar led his horse forward by the bridle. They passed through into the streets of the Stravad capital. Night had fallen only a short time ago, but most of the citizens had already retired to their houses. Summer had come to the Stravad valley and the night was warm. As they followed the guard through the streets, Tyne noticed many people sitting on their porches, talking and laughing together.
In fact, laughter was heard at the turn of every street. Tyne had never heard so much laughter or uninhibited conversation. Children ran through the yards before the houses, playing games, and Tyne was surprised at the age of some of the children. He saw boys as old as himself playing ridiculous games, rolling around in the lawn and laughing hysterically.
He looked up at his brother in alarm. A Nazarien child never played so boisterously. At night a Nazarien child finished studies that there hadn’t been time to finish in the day. And a boy as old as Tyne would never roll around on the lawn or play with younger children. A boy as old as Tyne did not play. Already he was expected to have the bearing and pride of a warrior, he was expected to know his place and never slip out of control.
Amusement danced in the Nazar’s eyes as he met his brother’s startled look. “You’re no longer in Chernow, Tyne,” he said and nodded at the guard’s back. “At what age is a young man able to enter the Temerian guard?”
“Whenever he proves that he is mature enough to undertake the responsibilities of a Temerian guard.”
Tyne blinked at the convoluted answer. “At what age does a boy become a man in Temeron?”
“At whatever age he proves himself mature enough to undertake the responsibilities of a man,” the guard said and then laughed.
Tyne started at the unusual sound and rolled the guard’s answer over in his mind. What did he mean? Then a thought struck him. “Do you mean you have no manhood ceremonies?”
Again the guard laughed and Tyne’s surprised gaze fluttered to his brother’s face. Another play of amusement went through his brother’s eyes and Tyne realized the Stravad meant no offense by his laughter.
“A Stravad becomes a man when he shares pleasures with the woman of his choosing. Young Stravad are very amorous,” he said, then he patted the Nazar on the shoulder familiarly.
Tyne stopped in the middle of the road and his horse bumped him in the back with its nose. No Nazarien warrior would ever presume to touch the Nazar, unless it was to throw himself at the Nazar’s feet and press his hands to his lips. His brother should have been offended by the gesture, but he showed neither surprise nor offense.
The Nazar halted with the Stravad guard and they both looked back at him. “Are you coming?”
Tyne hurried to his side.
As he came abreast of his brother, the Nazar took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. “You’re no longer in Chernow, Tyne. It would be wise to remember that or you’re liable to be shocked at everything you see here.”
Tyne lowered his head at the gentle admonishment and fell into step beside his brother. From this point on, he was determined nothing would surprise him, or if it did, he certainly wasn’t going to show it. A Nazarien warrior would never be visibly caught off guard, he told himself.
&n
bsp; The guard left them at the door to a large house. The front lawn of the house was lush and flowers lined the walk to the door. Tyne’s eyes scanned the beautiful yard as he climbed the steps beside his brother. The Nazar rapped on the door and stepped back, drawing a deep breath and lifting his chin.
The door opened and the warm light of a lantern shown down on the two Nazarien. A Stravad peered out at them, his face suddenly registering surprise. He threw the door open and stepped back, motioning them inside.
The Nazar was the first to enter and Tyne obediently followed. He glanced over his shoulder at the gate to make sure their horses were secure and was surprised to find them gone. The guard must have taken them with him when he departed. Tyne had been so absorbed in the beauty of the garden that he hadn’t heard them leave.
He stepped around the Stravad and moved into the entryway, pressing close to his brother’s side. The Stravad shut the door and turned, his eyes passing between Tyne and his brother.
The Nazar’s eyes were dancing in the light of the lantern and the taut angle of his shoulders had relaxed a bit. He stepped forward and extended his arms. The Stravad smiled and embraced him in return.
Tyne surveyed the Stravad. He was older, although the only signs of age were the lines around his eyes. He patted the Nazar’s sides and held him away so he could look in his face.
“You look well, Jarrett.”
“And you haven’t aged, Thalandar.”
Tyne was astonished by the familiar use of his brother’s given name. Behind them, another man appeared in the doorway. Tyne immediately knew this man was only half-Stravad.
“And I suppose I look like an old man?”
Jarrett turned and held out his hand. “Tash, how are you?”
Tyne’s eyes widened even further as the half-blood took his brother’s extended hand with a warm smile. Tash, Tasamer Haldane – Tyne knew the legend, but to be faced with the real man was quite another matter. And then he realized who the Stravad was – Thalandar, perhaps the greatest leader of Temeron, until recently.
The World of Samar Box Set 3 Page 54