He gathered himself and pulled on all of the strength within him. It was one thing he rarely had to do, especially since coming to Yoran. He’d been taught this technique by his mentor all those years ago. He could gather his strength as a way of focusing his mind, focusing his body, and getting ready for the job at hand.
Mastering his core reserves involved concentration. It was his way of calling on power deep inside of him, holding it together, and preparing it for the possibility that he might need to use it as an explosion of energy. Time and training had allowed him to hone that power, to turn it into a weapon. It was because of his control over his core reserves that he’d gained the nickname while training with Tristan.
Chain Breaker.
Gavin rarely had used his power in that way, but he needed to use every advantage he had when facing two El’aras—and the possibility there were others within the city. Summoning that power, he flipped backward.
He drove one heel into the forehead of the nearest El’aras. As he kicked, he spun and drove the toe of his other foot forward, which collided with the man’s neck. Gavin completed the flip, landing on his feet, his back to the alley.
Something crashed into him from behind.
Another El’aras he hadn’t seen.
Gavin cursed to himself and tried to get up, but his body ached. There was pain within it, and everything hurt. He had no idea how badly he was injured, only that he’d been struck in the middle of his back, which could be shattered. If that were the case, he wasn’t going to be able to get up easily.
Once again, he summoned the power within him. He felt it gathering deep within his stomach. He focused on the power instead of the pain, steeled himself, and then launched.
He flipped up and over the third attacker and scrambled down the alley. He staggered, trying to stay on his feet, but the pain within him continued to build. When he reached the end of the alley, he barely paused, looking down to see the three El’aras coming toward him.
One of them moved quickly. That would be the one Gavin hadn’t harmed, but the other two were coming at him far more rapidly than they should’ve been. They were already recovering.
That was one of the challenges when facing El’aras. Their magic allowed them to heal quickly. It was something he often wished he had, despite knowing that wishing for magic was a recipe for disaster. Any time he’d dealt with magic had always ended in chaos.
He grabbed for the El’aras’ dagger, then staggered along the street and moved as quickly as he could. He continued to hold onto the strength focused within him, even though there was a danger in doing it. He’d trained his body long and hard using this technique in order to help fortify himself. There was a risk that he could draw on too much strength and summon too much power.
Still, what choice do I have? Gavin thought.
If he didn’t call upon all the strength within him, then he wasn’t going to be able to get away.
Gavin streaked up the street, the technique allowing him to ignore the pain within him. His mind distantly processed the various injuries. His back had been struck, and as far as he knew, something might’ve been broken when the El’aras had jammed into it. His arm certainly had been injured, and then there was the cut along the other arm. It was a wonder he was still walking. He thought he still had his knives, and at least he had the dagger. An El’aras dagger was incredibly valuable to the right person. Gaspar might be able to find a buyer for it, though that was assuming Gavin survived.
He turned at another intersection and raced forward. Everything was starting to go black along the edges of his vision. He had a destination in mind but reaching it was going to be difficult. He needed more healing than what he could get at the tavern. With his vision starting to fade, he wasn’t sure he was going to able to see anything well enough to figure out how to reach Cyran’s place.
Cyran was another student who had trained with Tristan, and one who had been the closest thing that Gavin had to a friend while working with his mentor. In the time that he’d trained with Tristan, it was difficult to have friends at all. Cyran had been that person, though it had been a complicated friendship.
Another street.
Gavin paused, looking at the buildings to register where he was. There was movement behind him, and in his mind, he saw the El’aras streaking toward him. He doubted they’d be willing to fight out in the open. That had been his mistake. He’d gone into the alley where it had opened him up to their attack far more easily. Had he stayed on the street, they wouldn’t have been willing to attack. They preferred the darkness and the shadows because it was easier for them to use their powers without someone else seeing. During the day, they could blend in effortlessly, as they looked little different than anyone else in the city.
Gavin hesitated, sweeping his gaze around and seeing nothing familiar. He looked at the buildings, searching for anything that would help him know where he was within Yoran. He couldn’t see anything but there were certain smells. He followed the scent of death and the poisons his friend had long dealt in.
It was an awful thing to be aware of, but it guided him nonetheless. He turned a corner, and in the distance, the faint lantern light revealed where he needed to go. He could practically see Cyran’s shop in his mind. He hoped Cyran was there, but more than that, he hoped his friend was willing to help.
Staggering down the street, Gavin’s strength faded, and he stumbled. He lost track of how long he was lying there before he sat up. When he finally did, he took in a deep breath and looked around. There was no sign of the El’aras. There were others in the street, but they avoided him.
Did they think I was intoxicated?
More likely they saw the blood on his arm and his other injured arm. They might’ve even seen something wrong with his back. He had no idea what the El’aras had done to him.
He squeezed the knives, holding onto the El’aras dagger. If nothing else, that was his prize for everything he’d gone through tonight. As he scrambled to his knees, he took in a few more deep breaths and focused again. That distant sense of power was still there, bubbling within his stomach, faint but enough to find the strength to keep going.
He stood up slowly and took a step. Then another. Then a few feet. With each step, it felt as if he were walking through mud. Everything around him felt off. His body felt off. His mind didn’t seem to work the way it should. Everything seemed wrong.
Gavin stumbled again, and he didn’t know if he could get back up. It took a force of will to keep moving. Then he saw it.
Cyran’s home was at the end of the street. It was near the outer edge of the forest, and he could see the darkened trees ahead of him. A single light glowed in the window. Gavin staggered toward the door. When he reached it, he rested his hand on it, trying to knock. He didn’t know if he had enough force with which to knock, but he tried. Then again.
“I’m coming,” a muted voice cried from inside. “You don’t need to beat down my door.”
When the door opened, Gavin fell forward, no longer able to hold himself up.
“Gavin?” Cyran crouched down, rolling him over. It took all of Gavin’s remaining strength to look up and see his old friend. “What happened?”
“Just wanted to visit.”
Then the rest of his strength faded, and the room went dark.
Chapter Five
Gavin awakened slowly. He’d been having dreams where he’d seen Tristan, his old mentor. Tristan had been instructing him on how to focus his energy, using his mind to call forth everything within his body in order to concentrate that power and hold it in place. It was a trick, nothing more than a way of gathering his strength. It allowed him to find some place deep inside where he could ignore everything but the innermost parts of himself. The lesson had been one of the hardest but also one of the most important.
Something roused him. When he opened his eyes, there was darkness around him. He started to sit up, but pain made it difficult. He reached for his head, wanting to tamp
down the throbbing within it. His arm ached, though with what he remembered, the pain was less than it should have been.
He remembered racing toward Cyran’s home and vaguely remembered reaching it, but he didn’t remember getting inside. Gavin took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. He followed the same techniques he’d used all those years ago, the way Tristan had instructed him on preparing himself. It was interesting that he’d also done so in his dream, almost as if Tristan were still there with him. Of course, there were many times when he felt his mentor’s presence. Not the least was when he was taking jobs that involved the El’aras.
As he focused himself, finding that inner strength, he called it through him. It allowed him to move and helped him ignore the pain. This was just one more lesson Tristan had wanted him to learn. Not only had he needed to learn how to channel his strength to his source of power, but he also needed to know how to ignore any pain or agony he might experience.
“Pain is just a concept,” Tristan had said.
Gavin remembered sitting on the wooden cot, one arm bandaged. It was the first time he’d ever been seriously injured working with Tristan. They’d been sparring in the hidden garden, the smell of the pine trees growing around him. He had been learning the fighting technique of the Zar, which was one of darting and exposing oneself, a high risk but high reward type of style. When Gavin had first practiced it, he’d found that the risk often involved injury—a lesson Tristan had seemed more than willing to teach him.
“I don’t like the style,” Gavin had said, fighting through tears.
“You have to ignore it. When facing a more skilled opponent, you will likely be injured, but it’s how you handle that injury that will allow you to move forward.”
Gavin had whimpered, which had been met by one of the many harsh looks Tristan gave him. The old man had never looked upon him with much fondness, certainly not when he was whimpering in pain. The only times he had gotten anything other than a harsh look was when he successfully did something that surprised his mentor.
“Now get to your feet. We will do it again.”
“But my arm—”
Tristan reached over and squeezed the injured arm. Gavin had cried out, and even now he could still remember vividly how much it had hurt. He’d cried, waiting for Tristan to release his arm, but the man didn’t. Gavin realized that he had to find some way to move past the pain, to fight through the agony, to ignore what suffering he faced. Tristan wasn’t going to let go.
Gradually, the pain started to drift into the background of his mind. It happened slowly, but as it did, he began to have some control over it. Eventually, he was able to tamp that pain down. His eyes stopped watering, and he stopped whimpering. He slammed his fist into Tristan’s shoulder, and the man finally released his arm.
Tristan nodded. “Are you ready?”
Gavin looked down at his wrapped arm. There was been a slight deformity, and he distantly wondered how long it would take for it to heal. “I’m ready.”
Shaking back the memories, Gavin looked down at his arm now, in the dark of the room. It was wrapped in a similar way as it had been all those years ago. Even now, though it throbbed, the lesson of ignoring the pain came to the forefront of his mind. He was able to control the pain, pushing it down and burying it. He wouldn’t allow pain to fill him.
Getting to his feet, he stumbled for a moment before reaching the door. He pulled it open and found Cyran sitting at a table, a stack of books in front of him. Cyran was about his age, with dark hair, glasses, and a thick beard Gavin suspected he kept to give him an air of wisdom. He looked up when the door opened.
“You should be resting,” Cyran said.
“I don’t think I can rest any longer.”
“You were attacked. You probably should be dead, especially given what happened to your back. I don’t know how you survived that.”
Gavin paused in front of a mirror on the wall. He twisted, but he couldn’t see anything. Cyran had removed his cloak but left him in his shirt. His back looked fine. He started to lift his shirt, but the movement caused another brief flare of pain that stopped him.
“What happened to my back?”
Cyran turned around and adjusted his glasses so that he could regard Gavin for a long moment. “I thought I would ask you that. When you came in here, you looked as if you had been crushed by a boulder. That’s about the only thing I could think would hurt the Chain Breaker.”
Gavin grunted. Cyran might be the only one who knew that name, other than Tristan. It was something they’d called him after Gavin had learned to escape the various bindings Tristan had placed him in, each one progressively more difficult.
“Not a boulder.” He blinked for a moment, thinking about the El’aras dagger. “Where are my knives?”
Cyran crossed his arms, glaring at him. The bushy beard made the gesture look ridiculous. “You come in here as injured as you were, and your first question is about your weapons?”
“That wasn’t the first question,” he said absently, thinking back immediately to the way he’d once antagonized his friend. “I would think given the state I was in, having access to my weapons would make sense. Even you should be able to understand that, Cyran.”
“Even me? What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It’s not supposed to mean anything.” Gavin’s strength started to fade, and he sagged.
Cyran was there in an instant and caught him, then he guided Gavin over to the table and sat him in the chair. “I told you that you still needed to rest. I’m surprised you can handle the pain in your arm.”
“I heal quickly,” Gavin muttered.
“I know that. You forget I’ve seen you like this many times before.”
“It’s been a while though.”
“It has been a while. I didn’t think you coming to Yoran would lead to you being injured like this.”
“What did you think would happen when I came to Yoran?”
Cyran sighed, shaking his head. “There was a part of me that thought maybe you would be able to give up the lifestyle.”
“It’s the only thing I know. It’s the only thing Tristan taught me to do.”
“It’s not the only thing he taught you to do.”
Gavin stared at him. There were lessons buried within, just like the pain he’d learned to suppress. He had never become the ruthless killer Tristan wanted, but there was still time. “Just because you gave it up doesn’t mean I can. My talents don’t translate quite as well as yours.”
Cyran swept his gaze around the inside of the room. It was tidy, much like him. Well, other than the beard. A shelf contained all of the medicines, all of the various leaves and berries and other medicinals he’d collected that helped him work as a healer. They were the same sorts of things he’d once been taught to collect when he served as a poisoner.
“I’m sure I can find something for you here that doesn’t involve you using those talents the same way,” Cyran said.
“I’m sure you could, but I don’t know if the pay would be quite what I want.”
“That’s what you care about?”
Gavin licked his lips, looking around the room briefly before settling his gaze on Cyran again. “I need money to keep going.”
Something in Cyran’s eyes softened. “You aren’t still looking for them, are you?”
“The only thing I’m looking for is who was responsible for killing my parents. That hasn’t changed.”
“Even though you came to Yoran?”
“You sent word that I might find answers here,” he said. They hadn’t stayed in close contact, but enough that when Cyran had sent word to him, Gavin had listened and responded.
“Not necessarily that you might find answers, only that the city is unique.” He gestured around the room they were in. “I’ve been here for the better part of the year. It’s a reasonable city and being situated on the edge of the Jaren Forest has certain advantages.” Cyran turned toward him and shrugged, t
hen studied him for a moment. “Have you found what you’re looking for?”
Gavin took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I don’t even know if there’s anything to find,” he said. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. He had searched for what’d happened with his parents, wanting to know the truth of their slaughter and why he’d survived. There had been no answers, much like Tristan had always told him, though he believed there had to be some truth out there, if only he had a way of finding it.
“I think your quest is going to end up with you dead.”
“Maybe.” Gavin leaned back and rested his eyes for a moment. He felt himself drifting, succumbing to exhaustion.
Focused himself as much as he had and trying to call upon the core reserves of his strength had drained him. There were limits to how often and how much power he could summon when he did that. He needed to relax and replenish his stores of energy.
“I noticed something with your weapons,” Cyran said.
“You did.”
It wouldn’t surprise him to know that Cyran recognized the El’aras blade. His friend had been trained in much the same way, and though they hadn’t faced quite the same challenges, Tristan had been harsh to both of them.
“I did.”
He ambled over toward a shelf and grabbed the knives and the El’aras dagger. He placed the knives on the table and slid them over. Gavin reached for them, and he was just a half a breath too slow. One of the knives almost collided with his stomach when it slid faster than he’d been expecting. He looked across the table to Cyran, who examined the El’aras dagger in his hand.
“I haven’t seen anything this well made in quite some time,” Cyran said as he turned it from side to side.
“You know what it is,” Gavin said.
Cyran looked up from the dagger and rotated it, handing it to Gavin hilt first. “I know what it is, but what I want to know is why you have it here.”
“Because I was attacked by the El’aras.”
“There are no El’aras within Yoran. In none of the free cities. Not since the war.”
The Chain Breaker: Books 1-3 Page 5