Ardu Sett turned his eyes back to Eilus Tang. “We thank you for your news. We have much to think about. Please rest and eat. We will inform you if we have further questions.”
Eilus rose from his seat, bowed, and turned to leave.
“Brother Eilus,” Rindu said softly, “after you have rested, I would be honored to have you share dinner with me and my family. Ylleria and Nalia are here with me and they have not spoken to you for several months now. They would like to see you, I think.”
“That is very kind of you. Yes, I would enjoy speaking with them as well. Thank you.” Bowing and saluting the other masters, he left the room.
Later that evening, Eilus Tang knocked on the door of Rindu’s small house in the masters’ area of the temple grounds. The house was small, made of wood, and had sharply sweeping roofs like all of the buildings around it. The monks with families, and all the masters whether they had families or not, had little houses. All the other brothers and sisters had either barracks-style accommodations, for disciples who were not full brothers or sisters yet, or small rooms off common hallways in the large housing buildings. Eilus’s room was the latter.
The door swung silently open and a masked head poked out. The mask was almost black, but shimmered with other colors as if catching the light of the setting sun. It covered the entire head of the young woman in front of him, making it impossible to see her face. Still, he saw the cloth of the mask tug in such a way that he could picture the eyes beneath going wide and the mouth curving into a smile.
“Brother Eilus,” the woman said, hugging him. “I have not seen you in months. Please, come in. It is wonderful to have a chance to talk to you again.”
The old monk smiled. “Thank you Nalia. I have missed you and your mother. It is difficult to see you only a few times a year, with you staying at the Sapsyra headquarters. You have grown three feet since last we met.” He winked at her and delighted when he heard her soft chuckle, full of joy and youthful energy. It reminded him of the wind chimes that adorned many parts of the temple.
The girl—no, he guessed she was really a young woman at seventeen, not a girl—led him into the small dining area in the house. She wore the typical garb of the Sapsyra, loose-fitting mottled gray pants and tunic that were tied at the knees, elbows, and cuffs.
It saddened him when he saw the back of her masked head and thought of why she wore the mask. She had been born hideously ugly, so much so that even as a baby, people could not look at her without quickly averting their eyes. Because honor was the cornerstone of the way of life of both the Sapsyra and the Zouyim, her parents had decided that it would be best to keep her face hidden. In that way, they would not insult or dishonor others or force them to dishonor themselves by avoiding having to look at her when they spoke.
It was a heavy burden for a young person, but she seemed unaffected by it. She was a serious student when learning, but in general she was a happy, carefree young woman. Just being in the same room with her lightened his old, tired heart. It was good to see her again. She was almost family.
Ylleria Zose rose from her seat and embraced Eilus, kissing him on the cheek. She overtopped him by several inches, so she had to stoop slightly to do it. “Brother Eilus, it is so good to see you again. Please, sit.”
Rindu’s wife had the same slender body as Nalia, slender but muscular. It was difficult to see with the loose Sapsyra garb Ylleria and Nalia wore, but both women were strong and toned, built for battle. Their movements were alike, graceful and efficient, though Ylleria’s much more so, revealing her many more years of training.
“How are things at the Sapsyra headquarters in Marybador?” Eilus asked Ylleria.
“They are fine,” she answered, pouring water into his glass from a wooden pitcher. “We are busy, as ever, trying to protect the people from the bandits that are popping up like weeds after a spring rain.”
The Sapsyra Shin Elah, an order of women warriors, the finest in the world, were committed to helping out the common people, protecting and nurturing them much as the Zouyim did. The two groups worked closely at times, though their headquarters were many days travel from each other.
Rindu came in from the kitchen carrying bread with butter. “Dinner will be ready shortly. Would you like some bread, Brother Eilus?” He did, and Rindu cut off a large slice and presented it to him.
“Have you had issues with the Gray Man’s minions?” Eilus asked as he put butter onto his bread. “You are much closer to the Gray Fortress than us.”
Ylleria’s beautiful face grew serious. Her blue eyes flashed as she absently brushed a light brown strand of hair from her face.
“He has been active.” Her mouth tightened into a thin line before she began speaking again. “He has been moving his forces to small villages, taking them over completely or, at times, destroying them. I have cautioned Rusha Kloos that we must act, but she is being wary. She does not want to act impulsively. It is a mistake. I think—”
“Enough, Suhir,” Rindu interrupted softly, using the term of endearment for his wife. Eilus knew it meant “moon” in Old Kasmali, indicating that Ylleria was his shining light in the darkness. “Brother Eilus is familiar with caution. The Grand Master mirrored Rusha Kloos’s sentiments just a few hours ago. We can do little but provide our counsel and follow the directions of our leaders.”
Ylleria flushed slightly. “Of course. I am sorry, Brother Eilus. At times I forget myself. Please accept my apologies.”
The old monk patted Ylleria’s hand. “Oh, there is no need for that. I understand your opinion, and I agree with it. But we must follow the path of honor and all will be well.”
The remainder of the evening consisted of conversation and a fine meal. When Eilus Tang finally made his way back to his room, he was able to find sleep quickly despite the troubled feelings that the Gray Man was growing more powerful each day.
Chapter 4
Scrin Tael had always been good at hurting people. Sure, he was good at other stuff, too, but mainly he was good at causing harm. You became proficient at what you loved, what you practiced, he figured.
“Jak, get that guard up, you idiot!” he yelled at one of his soldiers sparring with another. “That’s a good way to get a sword in the gut.”
He scanned the soldiers assembled in front of him in one of the training yards at the Gray Fortress. He had a lot of work to do to get his soldiers to where they needed to be.
Movement to his side caught his attention. Another of the special unit commanders was making his way toward Tael.
“Scrin Tael?” the man asked him. He was a large man, with broad shoulders, big arms, and scars criss-crossing his skin wherever Tael looked.
Scrin Tael nodded, not even bothering to waste his breath. Men such as this respected strength above all else. They also saw being polite as being weak. He would prevent future problems if he dealt haughtily with the man now.
“I’m Ru Wilkes. I command another of the special units being formed. The Gray Man wants all the special unit commanders in his audience hall immediately.”
“Very well,” Tael said to him. “I’ll be there in a moment.” The man nodded and headed back in the direction from which he came.
The commander looked over his recruits one more time before turning to head into the main keep building. He noticed as he left that Jak’s opponent had taken advantage of his low guard and delivered a rib-bruising blow with his practice sword. Shaking his head, Tael continued into the building.
The Gray Man had assembled close to a dozen men in the room before him. They all stood stiffly, silent, waiting. As Scrin Tael arrived, the commander of the Gray Man’s forces, Dodson Drees, called them to attention.
The commander was older than Tael by a good thirty years, but he was still powerful and agile. He was a big man, though not quite so large as his son, Shordan, who stood beside him. Towered over him. The two were obviously related. Both tall and muscular, both with weapons strapped all over their armored bodies,
they were mirror images, even if the original seemed aged and a little faded compared to his reflection. The younger man’s brown hair was a contrast to the older man’s hair, which was beginning to show streaks of gray, but looking at their lumpy faces, he could see the strong resemblance.
The Gray Man walked into the room. No, he glided into the room. His charcoal-colored clothing swished softly in the silence. He wore simple pants and a tunic cinched with a leather belt, pant legs tucked into soft boots. A cloak billowed out behind him as he made his way to the seat raised up on a small dais on the far side of the room.
“I will be brief,” he said, his voice resonant and rich. It carried through the room as if amplified in some way. He swiveled those dark, red-rimmed eyes at the commanders there.
“You have been selected because of your excellent records and because of your skills. We are at war. True, our enemies don’t know it just yet, but we are at war. I have created special units, units for which you are the commanders. For the most part, your units have only one objective: isolate very small groups of Zouyim mages, one or two, ambush them, and kill them. You have been briefed on the methods for doing this. You will simply be called Hunter Units.”
The Gray Man looked right into Scrin Tael’s eyes, making him drop his gaze. “Do not, under any circumstances, engage the monks in a conventional battle. You will lose. The only way you can hope to prevail is to attack them from afar, injure or incapacitate them, and then finish them off. Any other method will lead to the death of your entire unit. Is that clear?”
The men all voiced their agreement, “Yessir” echoing throughout the audience chamber.
“I said that ‘for the most part’ the units will be tasked with killing Zouyim. There will be other special units, starting with the unit commanded by Ru Wilkes. These units will be called ‘Collectors’ and will be responsible for obtaining rare artifacts and records and bringing them to me. As time goes on, there will be more of these Collector units.
“Spend these next few weeks working out the problems with the way your units operate. You must be efficient. Ruthlessly efficient. In three weeks’ time, you will begin your missions. Dodson will give you your orders. You are the best of my forces. Prove to me the truth of that statement.”
Without another word, the Gray Man stood, stepped off the dais, and left the room. Scrin Tael watched him go, cloak floating along behind him.
“I am telling you, Ren,” Deena Pol said, “the two bandits who escaped us will not cause trouble for the village. They will run as far as they can, far enough so they never see another Zouy.”
Ren Drow laughed. “I suppose it is as you say, Deena. I do not like that we were unable to capture them, however.”
Deena patted the other Zouy’s shoulder. “There were a great many of them. It is a small thing that two escaped. The village is safe. That is the important thing.”
She squeezed his shoulder as he nodded. She liked Ren. She had gone on several missions with him and they worked well together. For his size, he was a fierce fighter. She herself was a good four or five inches taller than him. She was hefty while he was slender. She had long dark hair while he had slightly lighter brown hair, cut short. They made quite a pair, both dressed in the off-white Zouyim robes with their soft sandals laced up almost to their knee, she being tall and him short, she wide and he so thin. Still, they were the same inside. They had the same belief and respect for honor and law, as did all the Zouyim.
His blue eyes met her brown. “It will be good to get back home to the temple. It has been too long.”
“Yes,” she answered, “I agree.”
They were making their way toward their home at Kokitura Mountain along a narrow, winding path through a nameless forested region. Their mission to stop a group of bandits that had been terrorizing a small village had been successful, the village freed, and the few bandits left alive captured for trial by the residents. Well, all except the two that escaped. Still, it was a successful mission.
The two came around a bend in the trail as it crossed through a meadow, chatting softly, and noticed a man lying a few dozen feet away, apparently injured. Rushing to him, Ren inspected him to assess his injuries. He had been stabbed in the belly. The blood had spread into a pool around him and largely soaked into the soil. The blood on his body was crusted and dried. There was no life left in him.
“What do you think—” Ren started as the twanging noise of several bowstrings snapping echoed faintly in the quiet meadow.
Deena sensed two arrows coming for her, one from her left and the other from her right, both from behind. She went within herself and saw where the projectiles would strike. Twirling while unsheathing the two long knives she had strapped to her belt, she dipped her head and shoulders just enough for one arrow to pass harmlessly over her while she cut the other out of the air with her knives. As she did, she saw Ren dodge two other arrows and shatter a third from the air with his staff.
The two Zouyim looked at each other, nodded, and took off running into the trees, arrows whizzing by them as they ran.
Thinking she would be safe among the foliage, between the trees, Deena slowed her running slightly and looked over at Ren. “Were you harmed?” she asked.
“No. You?” he replied. He nodded when she shook her head.
They ran another twenty feet before they heard more noise, in front of them and to their left. They automatically angled off to the right. That was when they broke the first tripwire.
Deena heard the snap of the thin cord and was confused for a moment. But only for a moment. The flexible tree limb that had been held back had now been released and was coming at them at great speed.
“Down,” she said, though she knew it wasn’t needed. Both monks dove at the ground and rolled under the branch as it swept by them.
She returned gracefully to her feet and looked around. Ren was nowhere to be seen. She heard a grunt and was shocked to see him flying up out of a hole in the ground. A pit. His arm had a large gash in it and he looked to be in pain, but he was on solid ground again. They nodded to each other and toward the right, then started moving again in that direction. That was when they broke the second tripwire.
The snap of the wire seemed very loud in the quiet forest, even louder than the beating of Deena’s heart in her ears. She had been running hard and, though she was in extraordinary physical condition, her breathing was labored. The sharp snap of the cord seemed to hang in the air. Floating. Waiting.
Then, from directly in front of them, hundreds of quarrels rushed toward them. Some struck saplings or larger trees, stopping there. Some were deflected slightly by leaves or vines. Most, though, continued in a straight path, right toward them. She only had time to grunt, “Oh” before they were upon them.
Using the knives still in her hands, she twirled and twisted, flicking her wrists too fast for an observer even to see, cutting the bolts in front of her out of the air. There was no need to deflect all of them, only the ones directly in front of her, the ones that would strike her.
She was successful. Mostly. Five of the projectiles struck her: two in her left arm, one in her right arm, one a glancing cut on her midsection, and one in her left leg. The last one was bleeding heavily.
Deena Pol looked over at Ren Drow and saw that he was as moderately successful as she. He had taken six quarrels that she could see, though none of his seemed as serious as the one in her leg. The most troubling was the one that had pierced his right shoulder. That one would affect the use of his weapon.
Shadows flitted through the trees all around them. She soon saw that they were surrounded by at least three dozen soldiers, all with bows or crossbows, all with the projectiles loaded and pointed right at them.
“It was a good try,” she said to her friend. “A good try.”
He nodded, his face a mask of pain. “One more attempt?” he asked, his voice strained.
“Yes,” she said.
They forced themselves to stand up straigh
ter, bowed to each other, and saluted as best they could holding their weapons. Then, as if by some silent command, they simultaneously leapt at the nearest soldiers, striking them down.
The last thing Deena Pol heard was the twang of several dozen weapons firing killing projectiles into her.
Chapter 5
“It was a well-planned ambush,” Torim Jet told the Guiding Council of the Zouyim. “They were worn down with traps and arrows until they were finally too injured and weak to fight back effectively.”
Palusa Filk tried to pay attention to what Brother Torim was saying, what he was telling the Council about their experience. Her thoughts whirled in her head, crashing against her skull until she could feel the pressure of them, like they were trying to burst through. She recalled how it had all started.
She had been the envy of her friends, the group of disciples she had grown up with at the temple. All of the young girls were envious of her being able to go on a mission with Torim Jet, the most handsome man any of them had ever seen.
“He is not courting me, we are going on a mission for the Zouyim temple. Do not be childish,” she said to them, but inside her heart fluttered at the thought of spending all that time alone with the senior monk.
Thinking of his sand-colored hair waving in the breeze, his bright blue eyes, and the distinctive features of his face, she could see why sometimes women just stopped and stared at the man, unable to form a thought. What’s more, he was a respected Zouy, an example to younger monks and disciples. She sighed.
“It will be a simple mission,” she told them. “We will merely be escorting the children of a town leader for perhaps fifty miles. We will only be gone for a week or just a bit more.”
Her friends, all young women in the ages of seventeen to nineteen, giggled and hugged each other. Palusa could only shake her head before the contagious giggling took hold of her and she joined them.
Harmonic Magic Series Boxed Set Page 41