Chapter 3 – Part 9 – The Lessons Begin
Sahren was late again, the girl’s long legged sprint proving her penitence for her tardiness at the very least. Easily as tall as most men, each stride sent sprays of sand after her, flaxen hair an unkempt flag glowing in the morning sun. Still trying to straighten out the rough wool tunic and properly tighten too large trousers to her waist as she went, she fought with the thick brown leather belt cut as her trousers, for a man twice her size and width. Cheeks flaming red, and blue eyes are glazed with temper-filled tears – no-one had woken her, even after summoning the courage to ask.
The long rooms finally appeared in the distance, hunched on a rocky escarpment butting up against the beach, two score insect like lumps lined with red brick made from the clay in the mountains on the north of the island. The sun made them look like ovens, and likely they were inside but there was limited indication. The only visible figure sat, curled in a ball at the entrance of the third most building wrapped in a heavy black Weaver’s cloak, its shock of white hair whipped by the sea-born wind.
Not quite out of breath as she finally pulled her long strides back to a fast stride, struggling with wind whipped hair as it fell about her shoulders and down her back in a wild tumult causing her to sputter curses for her late awakening and the lack of time to plait it properly. She had barely had the time to remember to nestle the sheath for her kukri shaped Athama, amethyst just visible at the edge of the ill-fitting scabbard.
“Excuse me…” her timid voiced country-burr was inescapable Sahren took a moment to lick her lips and plant her hands on her hips. “I’m sorry for the trouble, but I’m looking for the Blackcards, and I’m late…d’you know where they are…Please?” Her eyes dropped back to the floor, seeming to shrink in on herself a little, hard to do when you’re as tall as she, and built as all good firm girls should be – strong and curved – made to stand the test of time.
Icy blue eyes too old for the face that framed them peeked up at the girl from under the mass of silvery hair. A slender hand reached up from within the cloak to rake back the offending mass as a discerning frown crept across the too-young face.
“The Blackcards are in there,” he said softly, jerking a thumb at the door to the long room. “Do you have a message for one of them?”
Sahren glanced down at him, only as he asks her purpose, her summer-sky eyes meeting his wintery-chill, shying away as sure as an unbroken filly from a saddle.
“A message?” Painfully obvious that she got the implication, her expression faulting into a frown for a moment before she makes herself glance up again “I am a Blackcard ” Wanting to go on, to say more – that much obvious as she clamps her full lips into a thin line. Taking a step closer – towards both the man and the door.
“Ah!” the man beamed, shooting to his feet. “I was wondering when the last of my minions would be showing up. When did you get in? I was not aware that any ships were coming to wharf here until next week. Oh, forgive me,” he added with a laugh, extending his hand, using the other one to keep his cloak closed tightly about him, even against the heat of the sun. “My name is Anrui Frost. I’m your instructor.”