Honourbound: A Progression Fantasy (Surgecaller Book 3)

by Todd Herzman

  Huon found a clear spot in which to cultivate. Champion Jesalla didn’t much care how they cultivated their essence, as long as they did. So every morning, Huon drew his sword and cultivated how Danieja had taught him. He still didn’t know any kata to perform with the sword, but that didn’t stop him from creating his own.

  Control.

  Pushing everything from his mind wasn’t easy. He still felt numb from the events of the day before—from killing the man in cold blood. But training, cultivating—it was always something he was going to have to do, whether he was oathbound or not.

  The physical surges came easily, as they always did. He was no stranger to pushing his body as hard as it could go. He’d come a long way since learning how to do handstand push ups in the Deep Wood with Bern.

  Once he felt the reassuring weight of a core full of physical essence, he moved onto the elemental surges. His reserves of wind and water were still full—he barely surged them.

  Fire and earth were simply the easiest of the elemental essences to cultivate. Earth was all around them, and fire essence could be created, or leeched from any camp fire around.

  It was when Huon reached the three new unique essences he’d developed that he stopped short, not having any idea where to start. Acute hearing seemed simple enough. He sat and meditated, assuming a receptive state, and… listened.

  The noises of the war camp had become familiar since he’d been thrown into the Honourbound army. Heavy footfalls as other soldiers cultivated their speed and stamina. The clash of steel on steel as they sparred. The shouted orders, the echoing laughter.

  Except it felt much quieter today. More subdued. Perhaps he wasn’t the only one feeling guilty for what he’d just done. The other surgecallers had lived a life of enslavement since the moment they became Pages, yet this war would be different to anything they’d faced before. As he concentrated on every sound he heard, a trickle of essence entered his core. This surge… once he’d become more familiar with how it was cultivated, he’d be able to cultivate it all the time, as he did breath.

  Though using the surge was another story. The last time he had, it had been overwhelming and painful. But now wasn’t the time to practice new surges—he wondered when would be.

  Once hearing was full, he moved to the next. Fearlessness was the surge he wished to cultivate most—he hadn’t had enough of it during the battle. If he’d been able to use it while facing the Immortal, or killing that man…

  Nothing would have changed.

  When he examined the essence, he was taken aback. It was… half full. How had that happened? He’d not remembered feeling it being cultivated… had he?

  Huon sat in the receptive state, breathing, thinking. Fearlessness. What was fearlessness? An emotion? Inner strength? To cultivate the physical surges, like strength, he had to perform strength exercises. Perhaps when he’d faced the Immortal… but had that been fearlessness, or stupidity? He didn’t have an answer to that, but perhaps it didn’t matter for the purpose of cultivation—his core couldn’t tell the difference.

  Huon’s brow furrowed as he thought about it. When he’d been given the order give that man a second chance, he’d fought it. He’d tried to stand his ground and failed to do so for more than a second. What had been different this time, to when he’d managed to withstand the Immortal of Fire’s commands back in Jakob’s stronghold? Was there something more to it than strength of will?

  If it truly was surging will, why couldn’t he feel will essence?

  To advance to Knight, I had to project my intentions into the universe. That had required attaining a different state of mind, similar to the outward state.

  Perhaps… perhaps surging will—and he would think of it that way, until he had a better explanation for it—like imbuing something with essence or cultivating it, had to be done while in a specific frame of mind, a frame of mind he hadn’t been in at the time.

  Maybe I have more opportunities to practice fighting commands than I thought. He let out a breath. He had to change what he was doing. Being forced to kill—he never wanted to experience that again.

  He would. He knew he would. This war was just beginning. After what they’d done to the Forest City of Landor, the Queendom of Arisalon would have to give a show of strength.

  Huon might not be able to get rid of his binding, but he could gain something from this mess—he could gain more of that inner strength.

  Jakob had sent him to this fate. Huon hated the man, but maybe he would… maybe he would come to save Huon from this, before the war began.

  Unlikely.

  Huon opened his eyes, looking at his other Squad mates. Most of them were done with their cultivating. Jamison was speaking to Champion Jesalla, asking her how to cultivate his acidic venom surge. Sharpness. Huon still didn’t know how to cultivate that. He stood, and walked over to Champion Jesalla. Her new partner, the man who’d just become oathbound, stood stock still beside her, staring into nothing. Huon had some idea of how the man must be feeling. Just as I had felt, when my enemy, the Immortal of Fire, bound me. Except this man would have to turn around and fight his own people.

  Jamison walked away, and Jesalla beckoned Huon forward.

  ‘Knight Huon.’ She nodded.

  ‘Champion Jesalla.’ Huon bowed. ‘I need assistance cultivating one of my new surges.’

  Jesalla wasn’t looking at him. Her eyes were off staring straight ahead. She always seemed to avoid their gazes. ‘What is the surge?’

  ‘Sharpness. It—’

  ‘I know what it does. It’s a good surge, it will serve you well.’ Jesalla nodded toward the middle of the camp. ‘Find one of the blacksmiths. Tell them your surge, they will help you.’

  Huon bowed again, then headed toward the middle of the camp.

  As he walked, his mind had a chance to roam free, and it went right back to the day before, when the Immortal of Earth had commanded him to kill that man.

  He’d ran him right through with his sword. The surgecaller hadn’t even been able to fight back—he’d just knelt there, staring at Huon with all the hate he could muster.

  Huon clenched his fists as he walked, the thought he’d had the day before came back to the forefront of his mind: I’ll kill every oathmaster in the realm if I have to.

  I will escape all this.

  I will.

  Chapter 9

  Huon found the nearest blacksmith’s tent.

  The man behind the anvil looked strong even by surgecaller standards. He had a long, braided beard, and was built thick as a tree trunk. He hefted a small hammer, which he struck against the steel of the sword he was working on with great strength, speed and accuracy—a strike any fighter would be proud of.

  As Huon approached, his eyes darted to all the weaponry around the blacksmith’s tent.

  ‘What d’ya need?’ The blacksmith grunted, slamming his hammer down three more times before he stared at Huon.

  ‘One of my lead pair sent me, I’ve developed a new surge—sharpness.’

  The smith nodded, his beard swaying, dropping his hammer onto a bench. ‘Aye. Come round, then. Draw your sword.’

  Huon raised an eyebrow, stepping around the bench into the tent. He drew his hand-and-a-half sword, and placed it into the smith’s beckoning hands.

  ‘Hmm.’ The smith turned it around, touched its edge. ‘How often do you sharpen this thing?’

  ‘Ah.’ Huon frowned. ‘I use essence to strengthen it and keep its edge—’

  ‘That ain’t enough.’ The smith grunted. ‘Essence alone won’t keep a weapon in good working order.’ He shook his head. ‘How long you had this blade?’

  Huon closed his eyes, thinking about Knight Kyla.

  ‘Doesn’t matter. Least you’re here now.’ The smith looked about his tent, then grabbed a whetstone. He glanced at Huon. ‘Why don’t I just show ya how to do this, aye?’ He sat cross-legged on the ground, placing the whetstone on the fl
oor. ‘Cultivating sharpness is much like cultivating anything else. For strength, we perform strength exercises. For fire, we take it into ourselves. For sharpness? We gotta make something sharp.’ He began running the length of the blade against the whetstone. ‘When cultivating, don’t surge while doing this. You must assume a receptive state.’ While still sharpening the sword, he looked up at Huon. ‘Is this your first unique essence?’

  ‘I gained my first three the day before…’ He looked toward the forest city, up in the canopy.

  ‘Aye. Well, dunno what your lead pair told ya, but there is essence in all things. Everythin’ in nature has it—every animal and beast, every tree and river, every movement and thought.’ He examined the blade’s edge, then placed it on the ground and stood. ‘We just can’t feel it all. Sit. Do as I did.’

  Huon did as instructed. Sitting in front of the whetstone, he hefted his sword, and frowned. He’d sharpened blades in the past—spearheads and knives—but he’d thought the strength imbued in his sword would make such work unnecessary. He mimicked the blacksmith’s movements, running the length of the blade against the whetstone, over and over, breathing in through his nose, out through his mouth. Assuming a receptive meditative state didn’t require him to breathe a certain way anymore, but doing so helped when he was trying to focus his concentration and block out the rest of the world.

  A moment passed, and all that Huon could see was the blade, all he could hear was the sound of it against the whetstone. He closed his eyes, trying to feel the essence.

  Essence is everywhere, in everything.

  It was something he’d never heard said before, yet it made complete sense. Of course essence was everywhere. Huon had learnt to cultivate it with his every move. Gods, it was in the very air.

  After he sharpened the length of the blade four more times, he felt something. Essence, brushing against the edges of his awareness. Sharpness. He focused in on it, continuing to sharpen the blade, his eyes still closed.

  And breathed in.

  He’d been half expecting the act of cultivating sharpness to cut his skin, like how fire burned through him, but it smoothly entered his core. It only took a moment for his reserve to fill. The reserve for sharpness essence—as he’d suspected—only held enough for one use.

  Huon opened his eyes. The blacksmith had returned to his work at the anvil—Huon hadn’t even noticed the sound of the hammer, he’d been so focused on sharpening his sword. ‘Is there a way to hold enough for more than one strike?’

  ‘Not unless you’re a Champion. I’d recommend you imbue that sword with it now. If your blade has been sharpened enough, it should hold the essence for at least a week. That way, you can cultivate it again, then be able to use it for two strikes—the second more calculated.’

  The sharper the blade, the better it holds the essence? It made an odd sort of sense. Jamison should be glad Huon won, in that case. Huon couldn’t imagine the man’s hammer would hold the essence for long.

  Huon did as the blacksmith advised, imbuing his blade with the essence, then sharpening it some more. When he closed his eyes and put the sword against the whetstone, the blacksmith grunted. Huon stopped, opening his eyes again.

  ‘Sheath that sword before you cut my whetstone in half. Sharpen whatever else you have on you.’

  Huon looked at his sword, where he’d almost touched the whetstone again, feeling foolish. Of course the essence wouldn’t be able to differentiate between this and a strike.

  When Huon left the smith’s tent, his sword and dagger both had sharpness essence imbued into their blades, and he held a full surge within his core.

  The only thing that wasn’t full was fearlessness, but that wasn’t something he could cultivate every day.

  Unless I walk up to the Immortal of Earth right now, and tell him what I really think. The very thought made him shudder. The man had already singled him out, no reason to make that worse.

  Huon walked through the camp. Now that he’d cultivated as much as he could, he was supposed to stop for breakfast. That’s what his commands were unless otherwise instructed, and Huon found himself walking to the nearest cookfire.

  Then he stopped.

  No.

  This was the perfect opportunity to disobey his orders—the perfect opportunity to practice surging his will. He’d done it before. He’d stopped himself from killing Bern. He’d stopped himself from moving when the Immortal of Fire had commanded it—at least, he’d stopped himself for a little while.

  The more he practiced, the better he would become.

  Then maybe—just maybe—he could break his bond.

  Huon turned and walked in the other direction. He took one step before his binding burned. Huon almost surged stamina, but his stamina would do nothing for the pain caused by a binding.

  Control.

  I am in control.

  He stood there for a long while. Other Honourbound walked by him, some glancing with upraised eyebrows, most ignoring him.

  I won’t be the only one staring off into the distance today.

  Huon shut the world out of his mind as best he could. He hadn’t communed with the universe since his fight in the arena with Jamison, where he’d advanced to Knight. It hadn’t seemed necessary.

  But if there was something to be gained by doing this? By surging his intentions—his will?

  Huon let out a shuddering breath as the pain seeped up from his wrist, along his arm and into his shoulder. In his mind, he could see the stars. It was an odd sensation, like he was floating among the darkness of the night sky. It was also a familiar feeling—this is how it had been when he’d advanced to Knight.

  Not knowing what else to do, Huon thought his intentions again: I will become stronger than anyone ever has. He pushed his foot forward, placing it on the ground. I will defeat the Immortal Seven and the Everlasting King. He tried to push off his back leg. Tried to initiate the first step, but the pain was intense. It went straight to his head, and it took all his force of will not to turn right there and then.

  And it wasn’t just the pain he was fighting, he realised—he felt something else going on, more than just the pain. That made sense to Huon. Surgecallers were used to enduring pain—there must be more than pain that was controlling them.

  I will liberate the surgecallers from the surgeless rule.

  I will free them all.

  And I will kill any oathmaster who gets in my way.

  That final intention hadn’t been there last time, but… it had been true, even then, hadn’t it? As much as he abhorred killing, death… as much as he didn’t wish to perpetuate violence, there was no other way.

  Be ruthless.

  Huon took another step. The pain bit into every inch of his body. But somehow, he was able to face it.

  Huon took a third step. A fourth, until he walked at a steady pace away from where he’d been commanded.

  As he did, he examined that other thing he was feeling, beyond the pain. He narrowed his focus, trying to identify it.

  Then he halted. Not from the pain, not from the command, but from the feeling of that other thing.

  It was essence—a kind he didn’t recognise, but essence all the same.

  Whatever controlled the binding… it was powered by essence.

  Essence is everywhere, in everything. Huon looked at where he knew his binding was beneath his armour. He touched the underside of his left bracer.

  Of course it was essence. What else would it be? But that… that made him wonder. If there was essence in his binding—essence forcing him to follow commands—did that mean an oath binding was some kind of surge?

  Huon walked toward the nearest cookfire and picked up a bowl of food. He contemplated his discovery. If it were true, how would it help him escape?

  As he moved his spoon, about to take a bite, he stared at the food.

  When had he walked to the cookfire? He hadn’t meant to—he’d lost focus.
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br />   But I did it. I fought a command. At least, for a little while.

  Huon smiled as he ate. It was a small victory, but a victory, nonetheless.

  Maybe he could do this.

  Maybe he could escape.

  Chapter 10

  The army was on the march again.

  Huon jogged next to Jamison down a familiar path, one he’d taken with Jakob. They were heading toward the Queendom of Arisalon’s capital, Caralor.

  Liona will be there.

  Would she still be in the arena? Huon couldn’t imagine they would leave so many surgecallers locked up, forced to fight each other, when an army marched through their country.

  She’ll be… fighting on the other side.

  Huon looked at the other Honourbound in his Squad, at Jamison beside him. As much as he wanted to escape—as much as he believed it might be possible—it wasn’t going to happen today.

  And it wasn’t going to happen before his next fight.

  He must accept that. He must accept that he might be forced to kill again.

  This is war.

  It didn’t matter if it was a just war or not—it didn’t matter if it was his war. He was a soldier, and he would have to fight.

  Huon looked at Jamison as they ran. Talking while marching wasn’t prohibited, but anyone around them could hear what they said.

  ‘Did you mean what you said last night?’ Huon asked.

  Jamison glanced at him as he jogged, then stared forward. It took him a moment to reply. ‘I did. But… it doesn’t much matter now.’

  Huon bit the insides of his cheeks. He didn’t have a way out of this—out of his binding. What would telling Jamison about the surging of his will do to help either of their situations? Someone else would hear, he might be singled out again.

  Huon licked his lips. ‘Remember what I asked you, before Inara died? When I went to your room?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘What would you say if I asked you that question again?’