Chapter One – Part Eight – A Reason For Thryche
As the guards took his friend away, Rhayd Khalenn surveyed the wreckage of the court’s stage. Somehow, it had taken six guards to keep Kintere in line, and another three for the other conscious man. Drakar and his cohort were being dragged off in the same direction as the bound hunter from Namar, leaving a stunned court silent in the aftermath of the brief battle.
“I’m taking him, too,” Edvard said directly to the Duke, pointing at the exit where the bound Namari hunter had been taken.
“You can’t have him,” the Duke replied weakly, his expression already resigned to losing the argument.
“He’s a Talent. A major one if I’ve any guess. You’ll have them at the docks before sundown.”
The Duke was about to respond when Mireya stepped between the battling elders, looking twice her size with indignation.
“Just what in Balthus’ blazing pit is going on here, master Thryche? Who are you taking where? Why? What purpose have we here other than being bait for some low squabble between the nobility?”
Thryche, clearly amused by her outrage, simply smiled that infuriating smile he always did when presented with what he thought was a poor question, and began gingerly tucking his bloodstone stick back into the folds of his cloak.
“Why, my dear, we’re all bound for better things, I assure you,” he said evenly. “You and Rhayd here will be accompanying Kintere and his friend Kienor Blackfang to Yeun, whereupon you’ll be further destined for either the Academy of Weaving at Lockwood on Jinda, or to its sister facility on Attensah.”
With Mireya too confused to speak, Rhayd finally saw a space to cut in.
“Hang on,” he said sternly as he could muster, placing himself beside Mireya, facing his tutor. “We’re going where? None of us are Weavers, Edvard.”
“Oh, no,” the elderly tutor admitted, holding up a proud finger. “But soon you will be. You see, part of my task here in Ckuien Penance has been to send the Talented to be trained. As your sister, Rhayd’s talent burgeoned much sooner than your own, alas she left for Attensah long ago. But yours has begun to thrive, and naturally you are drawn to those who are of like spirit! Mireya here, and your friend Kintere both bear Talent, and I saw its mark upon that Blackfang as well before they dragged the poor man off. So you’ll go to Attensah, or perhaps even to Jinda where the seat of the Accord Council rests, and learn from the best now living, rather than from a lowly old Curia in some backwater capital.”
Too stunned to reply, Rhayd simply stood, agape, blinking at the brightly smiling old man before him.
Too late for it to do any good, Rhayd realized he had not even asked after his brother’s whereabouts. He probably should have.
When Kintere woke he was sore in far too many places he didn’t remember being struck, and found he could only open one of his eyes. It didn’t help much either way – the room he was in was small, and wet, and very dark. In fact, the only thing casting any sort of light was the tiny glow from Kienor Blackfang’s mask, where the slender hunter sat less than three paces away.
“Fine mess you’ve gotten yourself into this time, Tere,” Blackfang mused, folding his hands over his chest. “A shame they didn’t put us in with your brother. I’m sure we’d all have a great laugh at what a buffoon you’ve grown into.”
“Shut up, Kienor,” Kintere managed, shifting himself to sit against the wall opposite his compatriot. “What are you doing here anyway? It’s not like you to get caught.”
That put the hunter in his place. Growling under his breath, he turned his head away from Kintere, robbing the young man of any sense of depth or position.
“They came for me. Drakar and the rest of them. Had sorcerers with them – I killed nearly two dozen, with Khaleel’s help before he died. They killed Laiet as well.”
“Oh, merciful Nieri,” Kintere burst. Laiet dead! He had been Kintere’s first teacher in the science of the hunt, one of Porphigaul’s closest friends. “How?”
“Dread magic,” Kienor said balefully. “He was struck down by living fire from the hand of a coward who died shortly after. Even now I expect he is exacting his revenge on his killer in Nieri’s womb.”
“May it ever be so,” Kintere uttered reverently.
“Doesn’t seem as though we’ll get the chance for any such noble pursuits should we die in this place.”
“Oh, we won’t die here,” Kintere assured him.”
“How do you know that? These southlanders are animals.”
“Yes. Some are. But the man I came here with. Well, the two of them. One of them is the younger brother of Porphigaul’s business partner. The other is a Curia of the Regulators.”
“And that means exactly what to me, Kintere?”
“It means he’s important!” Kintere didn’t really know what a Curia was, but he did know about Regulators. “The Regulators control the sorcerers here. They teach them to use Jag Har’Oah’s gifts, and sometimes even Rahrin’s, to make magic.”
Blackfang spat.
“Sorcerers cannot be trusted,” the hunter growled. “Why should we expect him to get us out of here?”
“I said they wouldn’t kill us,” Kintere corrected. “I have no idea if they’ll let us out.”
“Ends up being the same thing, eventually,” Blackfang muttered. “I’m going to get some sleep.”
Kintere thought that was a good idea. He was hurting in more places than he knew he had, and still couldn’t open his right eye properly. With nothing else to occupy his time, he lay down on the floor opposite Blackfang and sank back into unconsciousness.