Into A Dark Realm, page 14
'Yes, Brother.'
'You may not sit on your bed until after the evening prayers, for one hour, before you sleep. If you are found sitting on a bed before then, you will receive five strokes of the cane.' He looked at the three and said, 'Now, find the provost and he will further instruct you. His office is on the other side of the entrance.'
Zane lingered for a moment, staring down into the chest, then he lowered the lid. As he turned to leave, Brother Stephen said, 'Which of you struck Servan?'
Jommy turned with a look of regret. 'It was me, Brother.'
Brother Stephen just looked at Jommy for a long moment, said, 'Hmmm,' then turned and walked away.
As they left the dormitory, Tad said, 'Zane, what were you staring at?'
'I was trying to memorize where everything went. I have no appetite for that cane.'
'You get used to it,' said Jommy. 'Besides, you'll have an hour before we sleep tonight to stand and stare down in to it.'
'Oh, right,' said Zane unenthusiastically.
The three boys wondered what it was that their foster-father had got them into.
• CHAPTER TEN •
Purging
Valko readied himself for violence.
The warrior who faced him was old, his scars looking like badges of honour, and his bearing revealed he was no elder waiting for a son to dispatch him to the Dark God's final service. There were many battles left in this man.
He stood in the centre of a large room, laid out in identical fashion to the fighting floor in the Hall of Testing in Valko's father's castle, but many times larger. Five hundred riders could sit in the gallery and a dozen combats could be waged at the same time. Valko glanced right, then left, and saw other Dasati youth also ready to fight.
The old warrior was dressed in the armour of the Scourge, almost identical to that worn by the Sadharin: a dark grey open-faced helm, breastplate, bracers and greaves, but rather than the tall plume sported by the Sadharin, his helmet was topped by a spike trailing two long ribbons of blood-orange cloth. He spoke and his voice was commanding, though he did not raise it. 'You are going to die.' Several of the other youths tensed and a few hands gripped their swords. 'But not today.'
He walked slowly before the sixteen young warriors who stood in a semi-circle, looking each in the eye as he spoke. 'You come to me, here, because you have survived your first testing. Survival is good. You cannot serve the TeKarana if you are dead. You cannot father strong sons and clever daughters unless you survive. And you want strong sons who will some day stand here to begin their training, and clever daughters who will hide your grandsons until they are ready for their testing.
'Such is the way of the Dasati.'
'Such is the way,' the young warriors repeated ritually.
'The second most glorious thing you can do is to die bravely for the Empire, when all else has failed. The most glorious thing you can do is make the Empire's enemies die for us. Any fool can die stupidly. Stupidity is weakness. There is no glory in dying a fool.
'Such is the way of the Dasati.'
'Such is the way.'
The old warrior continued. 'I am Hirea, a Rider of the Scourge. Some of you are sons of the Scourge.'
Several of the young warriors shouted.
'No longer,' said Hirea, his voice rising just enough to communicate his displeasure at the display. 'You are no longer Scourge. You are not sons of the Sadharin. You are neither Kalmak, nor Black Thunder; no Darkrider, Bloodtide, or Remalu stand here. Whatever you thought you were when you arrived is past. You are mine now, until I judge you fit to return to your fathers, or you lie dead on the sand beneath your feet.' He pointed to the sand for emphasis. 'Here you may claim your heritage as true Deathknights, serving your fathers or the Dark God. I will send you to either with equal pleasure.' He looked from face to face. 'Each of you will be paired with another. You will share quarters. From this moment, that warrior will be your brother. You will gladly give your life for him, and he for you. If your fathers are enemies, it does not matter. He is your brother. That is your first lesson.
'Now,' he pointed quickly to the two young warriors at each end of the semicircle. 'You and you, step forward.' They did so and he pointed to each. 'Your name!'
Each warrior stated his name and Hirea said, 'You are now brothers until you leave this place. After that you may feel free to kill one another, but until then you will die for one another.' He motioned over his shoulder. 'Stand behind me.'
He repeated this with the next two youths, and the two after that, until he came to Valko. He was paired with a son of the Remalu, by the name of Seeleth, son of Silthe, Lord of the Rianta. Valko said nothing as the remaining warriors were paired up, but he was dubious about his new 'brother'. The Remalu were known throughout Kosridi as fanatics. Many of their youth gave up the way of the sword to become Deathpriests. To serve the Dark God was an honour, and no one would say otherwise, but many felt it a less manly path. Priests died of old age and had no sons they could acknowledge. Any son of a priest was doomed to be a Lesser. Any warrior would prefer death to having a child survive to became a Lesser. Let the Lessers breed their own kind.
Rumour also told that they counted many among the Order of Deathmages. They were related to powerful lords on other worlds, and were kin to advisors to the TeKarana himself. Among the families on Kosridi the Remalu were most hated, as well as the most feared and distrusted.
Seeleth whispered, 'Many of these will die soon, my brother.'
Valko said nothing, returning only a single curt nod.
When eight pairs of brothers stood before him, Hirea nodded and pointed at the first pair, then let his hand sweep in an arc as he addressed all of them. 'Each of you has been given a room with two beds,' said Hirea. 'Those of you who were on my left when I called you out, move your belongings to the room your brother occupies. Dine at the zenith, then return here for your first training combat. Go!'
The young warriors moved in orderly fashion and soon Valko found himself alone in his quarters watching Seeleth put his few belongings in a chest at the foot of the second bed. Valko noted these contained quite a few mystic items, the sort given to a son by a worried mother. Perhaps Seeleth's mother had come out of the Hiding to take a place of honour in his father's court, or had given them to him before he left the Hiding. But a few of the items looked to be of much darker aspect than mere trinkets and had the feel of magic to them. Wards? Charms for good fortune?
Seeleth grinned at Valko as he sat on his bed. To Valko he resembled a hungry zarkis - the feared night hunter of the plains. 'We are going to do great things, Valko,' Seeleth whispered.
'Why are you whispering?'
'Trust no one, my brother.'
Valko nodded, once. If that is the case, he thought, why should one trust a ''brother'' who will only be that until we leave? Seeleth was apparently a peculiar type. The more he thought about it, the more Valko thought he might be the sort to become a Deathpriest. 'Let us go to the zenith meal,' said Valko, rising.
Seeleth stood as well, but stepped close and looked his new 'brother' squarely in the eyes. This was either an act of confidence or challenge. As no weapons were drawn, Valko assumed Seeleth was confiding in him. 'We shall do great things,' he whispered. 'Perhaps we shall be the ones to find and destroy the White.'
'The White are a myth,' shot back Valko. 'To imagine such beings is ... madness!'
Seeleth laughed. 'Such distress over a myth!'
Valko felt his anger rising. 'We are here to train, brother. I care not for the ambition of a son of the Remalu, nor do I waste time in fanciful visions of glory quests; they are for children playing in the Hiding.
'My father commanded me to be here, so I am here. Hirea instructs me to call you brother, and to die for you if needed. I obey. But don't vex me with your mind games, brother, for I will kill you.'
Seeleth laughed again. 'You answer as would any proper Dasati warrior,' he said, then left the room in the direction of the eating hall. Valko stood perplexed for a long moment, wondering what the purpose of all that had been. The White was an obscene concept, a blasphemy even, something not spoken of by anyone who wished to survive the harsh reality of Dasati life. To admit that the White might exist was to admit the Dark One was not omnipotent. Yet, if such a thing did exist, and if somehow one could be the warrior to end it, greatness would surely follow. But how could the White exist unless the Dark God was not supreme? The very question was an affront to logic. Was it offensive enough that he could justify taking Seeleth's head without having to defend himself against Hirea? To kill a Remalu would earn him standing with his father. He pondered it but an instant, then pushed aside the question and followed Seeleth to the zenith meal.
* * *
It had been a tiny mistake, but one that left a young warrior lying on the sand with his blood flowing unceasingly through the fingers that clutched his wound.
Hirea strode over and looked down at the wounded youth. His training opponent looked down as well, his face an unreadable mask. Hirea turned to the victor in the match and said, 'Go stand over there.' He pointed to a spot at the edge of the training floor.
Hirea was silent for a moment. Then he asked, 'What do you need?'
The wounded young warrior could barely speak as he lay curled on the floor, clutching his stomach. Finally he said, 'End it.'
Hirea's hand shot to the hilt of his sword, and before the other young warriors could even fully comprehend the motion, the sword came down and ended the young man's life. Then several of them started to laugh at his misfortune; Valko and Seeleth were not among them. Looking up at those laughing, Hirea said, 'He was weak! But not so weak as to ask for an Attender.' He glanced down. 'This is not funny. It is not worthy of regret, but it is not funny.' He motioned with his free hand for the boy's body to be removed, and the two Lessers standing nearby hurried to pick up the now-lifeless thing and carry it away to the Death Room, where the Renders would take apart the corpse and harvest all that was useful. The rest would be mixed in with the livestock feed. In that tiny way he would still serve.
'Does anyone here not understand?' When no one spoke, Hirea said, 'It is permitted to ask a question; you will not learn if you stay silent.'
A warrior on the other side of the room said, 'Hirea, what would you have done had he asked for an Attender?'
Hirea put up his sword. 'I would have watched him bleed to death slowly. His suffering would have been reward for his further weakness.'
Seeleth said, 'Now, that would have been funny.'
Hirea overheard him and turned. 'Yes, that would have been.' He gave out a single laugh, a harsh barking sound, then shouted, 'Return to your places!' To the opponent of the dead man, he said, 'I shall be your partner in the drill until another dies, then he who makes the kill will be your new brother.' He faced off against the youth who had just mortally wounded his brother and said, 'Good kill.'
The youth nodded, not venturing a smile and his nervous expression showed that he now wondered if he would survive the rest of the day's training.
* * *
The young warriors were roused in the dead of night by the servants. The Lessers were cautious in rousing the warriors, entering each room quietly, whispering to the young men then prudently stepping away lest a suddenly awakened young warrior vent his ire on the nearest target. Yet the message was heeded: Hirea says to be ready to ride at once.
The warriors slept in dark nightshirts in Dasati fashion, but with their weapons at hand. Quickly servants returned to each room to aid the young fighters, quickly stripping off the nightshirts, helping them to don a simple loincloth, foot and ankle wraps and a light undershirt. Then came padded pants and a light jacket, then armour. Each warrior who survived training would find a complete wardrobe of garments suitable for every occasion when he returned home, but during training this was the sum of their wardrobes: battle dress and a nightshirt. Even during their lessons with the Eflectors and Facilitators did they wear their armour.
The young fighters hurried to the stable where lackeys had already saddled the waiting varnins. The mounts pawed the ground and snorted in anticipation of a hunt. Valko went to his mount, a young female who had not yet bred, and patted her hard on the neck before springing into the saddle. The varnin's massive head bobbed slightly in acknowledgement that her rider was there then she snorted as he took the reins, yanking once, hard, to let her know he was in command. Varnins were stupid animals, and one had to remind them constantly who was in control. Great riders chose males for their aggressiveness, but most riders were on geldings and young females.
Valko waited while the remaining warriors mounted - ten in all from the original sixteen. The six who died all deserved their fate, Valko knew, but something about the death of the last, a youth named Malka, troubled him. He had been sparring with Seeleth and had suffered a minor wound, merely a cut to the fleshy part of the forearm, and hadn't even dropped his sword. As with such wounds, he was permitted the opportunity to dress it himself. Valko had seen him signal to Seeleth for a pause, and Seeleth had stepped away, acknowledging the cessation. Malka began to shift his sword from right hand to left and Seeleth had waited, then when Malka was least able to defend himself, the son of the Remalu had struck, a single blow to the neck which killed him instantly.
Nothing had been said. Valko could not imagine Hirea hadn't seen the kill, for nothing escaped the old warrior's sight. Yet he had done nothing. Valko had expected Seeleth to be chastised, even killed, by the old teacher for breaking the rules of the combat, but Hirea had merely turned his back as if he had seen nothing.
Valko was troubled, but not enough to ask a question. Questions when they were not expected were dangerous; too many questions meant a warrior was unsure of himself. Lack of certainty was weakness. Weakness was death.
Still, he remained troubled; rules were not followed, yet no punishment was forthcoming. What could be the lesson here, Valko wondered? That victory negated rules?
Hirea stood up in the stirrups on the back of an old male, as veteran and battle-scarred as he was. He signalled and the riders left the stabling area and reined in at the portal of the stabling yard. Hirea held up his hand for order and then spoke. 'A warrior must be ready to answer the call at any moment of the day or night. Now we ride!'
The young warriors followed their instructor as he led them down the long winding road from the old fortress that was now their training home. In ages past the fortress had belonged to a chieftain of an ancient tribe, its name now known only to archivists. The shifting sands that were the foundations of Dasati society had swallowed up another family. Perhaps a group of families had switched allegiances, abandoning an allied family to a harsh fate while seeking a more powerful patron. Perhaps a patron had been deserted by clients who sought more power by forming new alliances.
Valko realized he would never know unless he took the time to seek out an archivist, something for which he had little time and even less inclination. Valko let his senses attune to the night. He preferred the night: the lack of visible light was more than compensated for by his ability to see heat and, to a lesser degree, sense motion. Like all his race he could easily adapt to most environments; even deep, cold tunnels and caves. As he had spent most of his days of Hiding in such, Valko had developed an exceptional knack of judging distances and shapes, no matter how faint, by echoes.
He drank in the landscape as they rode down the trail - the blank, rolling fields, the distant hills almost imperceptible save for being slightly darker than the surrounding air. All was a panorama of gloom, except where tiny hot spots revealed vermin and their predators. A distant pack of zarkis could be seen chasing a swift prey animal, perhaps a loper or darter, across a distant field. Dangerous for one man, the zarkis pack would give eleven riders a wide berth. Years of being killed by the Dasati had bred a healthy fear of armed riders into them. But there were other night predators to be wary of: keskash, the two-legged ambush-hunter of the woodlands who would rush from concealment and snap a rider off his mount with jaws strong enough to shred armour. Its hide secreted a film of moisture that evaporated rapidly, hiding its heat form until it was almost upon its prey.
In the air the night-pouncers circled, their tiny intellect turned completely to calculating chances of survival as they struck down various prey, for nothing on this world surrendered its life without a struggle. Their heat images were hazy, for their large membrane wings dissipated heat quickly, hiding them from detection, both from those they sought to consume and from the flying claws, the powerful flyers who drifted high above them. The claws soared in the upper atmosphere, at times miles above the surface, until they expelled the gases from their bowels that gave them buoyancy; then they would swoop down on unsuspecting targets in the sky or on the surface. Their large wings would snap open with a crack like thunder as they turned their stoop into a sudden glide, their hollow pointed claws seizing their prey. Their powerful wings would beat as they climbed higher into the sky while they sucked fluids from the bodies of those they clutched in their talons. Before they reached their soaring altitude, they'd let go of a dried carcass that would tumble slowly back to the surface. The claws were powerful enough to seize a varnin and lift it, and those talons could punch through a breastplate. It was rare, but not unheard of, for a rider to be snatched from the saddle and carried off.
Valko revelled in the night. Like most of those on this ride, he had slept days most of his Hiding, venturing out after sunset to steal what he needed. His mother had told him that once he had sought out and won his place at his father's right hand, he would come to appreciate the daylight. He never doubted his mother; she was a woman of powerful intellect and keen perception, and he had yet to discover that she was wrong on any subject, but he wondered if he would ever feel completely comfortable in the harsh day after the concealing night.
He wondered why they were making this sudden night ride, but knew better than to voice any question. Hirea would tell them what they needed to know when they needed to know it. The Dasati way was predicated on a complex set of relationships, and when it was time for blind obedience, any question would almost certainly get a young warrior killed.
