Page 36 of Court of Talons
My lips twist, but in this, at least, I understand Nazar. In a few days’ time, I’ll be asked to use these weapons and trappings of war. The more I’m comfortable with them, the better off I’ll be.
Then again, I won’t be entering a cleaning competition, but a…
I fumble my bridle, my hands dropping to my lap. Nazar looks up, then shakes his head slightly, clearly suggesting I need to stiffen my spine. He’s right, of course. I’ve put myself upon this path now. All that’s left to do is walk it, step by step.
The way of the warrior is death. I must face it fiercely.
Nazar’s gaze moves to Caleb, for all that the squire is paying us no mind. Instead, Caleb’s happily brushing down Nazar’s mare, telling it of all the grand adventures that await us at the First House. The horse’s ears flick back and forth, indicating that she’s listening too, as Caleb warns her of the majestic warhorses in the First House’s stables, along with the finest oats and fresh apples and softest brushes.
We work long into the evening. As we prepare for nightfall, Caleb helps unstitch me from my tunic sleeves, and I force myself to let him, even though he winces to see the dark and damaged skin around my warrior band. It looks far worse than it feels, now, only twinging when I jostle or press against it. I wonder if it will always hurt to the touch.
When we at last break for a meal, Nazar uncovers a cooking pot that’s gone unnoticed in the embers of the fire. The rich, savory scent of meat swirls around us as he takes off the lid. He portions out the meal and I stare at it. I’ve never eaten anything so fine, or so much of it. This is a meal fit for warriors, I realize. As Talia, I wouldn’t have eaten this.
Nazar watches as both Caleb and I dig in, though the priest’s food goes untouched. Instead, he takes out his long pipe and lights the fine-smelling leaves within it. He gives us both cups of a sharp-tasting drink, which makes my nose crinkle. I set mine away instinctively after the barest sips, and a moment later, Nazar replaces my mug with a second, this one filled with hot water. Caleb receives no such new mug, and his laughter grows broader and less restrained as night falls heavily on the camp. Within an hour, he’s too muzzy to stand, and I push him toward his pallet.
“No,” he protests, trying to rally. “I’m…your squire. I hassss to help you.”
“Then do a squire’s work.” I laugh and nudge him again, and he stumbles to the right. “Tonight, that means you rest. Nazar wouldn’t have given you that wine if he hadn’t intended it to put you to sleep.”
That makes Caleb’s eyes go wide. “Perhaps I’ll dream of Divhs!” he says, and once again, the longing in his young voice hurts my heart.
“May your dreams bring you great happiness, then. Now go, get on with it. “
I watch him stumble to his pallet. I don’t know that I can trust him—he’s just a boy, and for all that he’s clearly endured, he could say the wrong thing at the wrong time, betray me in a moment of panic or heat. I have to be aware of that.
But none of that matters so much right now, as I hear him telling his horse of how, one day, a mighty Divh will choose him as his warrior knight, and all will stare in wonder.
I’m still smiling as I finish the last of the camp chores, everything falling silent as the rich smell of Nazar’s pipe plays on the night breeze. I’m grateful for the tasks, for something to focus my hands on even as my mind dips and whirls along impossible paths. But I can’t say I’m truly surprised when Nazar finally stands. I look at him then glance back to where Caleb is lightly snoring. “He won’t do much to watch the camp.”
“I’ve hired other watchers. Come.”
“No—wait,” I say hurriedly, not wanting this secret to be shared beyond the reach of our own fire. “He knows, Nazar. About me. That I’m…” I swallow. “Me.”
The priest squints at me, his pale eyes flat and unimpressed with my revelation. “Of course he does. Yet here he remains, pledged to Merritt of the Tenth. Would that you bring honor to his choice, as well as to your house.”
With that, Nazar picks up his walking staff and turns toward the darkness. I scramble to my feet and follow him. The night is bright, the pale gray of his long tunic easy to keep in front of me. We make our way through the twisting maze of other camps that dot the tournament grounds. There’s laughter and revelry in some, banked embers in others, each according to their needs for the following day.
At length, we arrive at the now-empty coliseum. The fighting platforms remain, littering the center of the field like leaves on a fall day, but no guards stand watch. The place has its ownoppressive feel to it. I doubt anyone would seek to desecrate or loot it.
Nazar, however, moves forward without hesitation. It takes me only a moment to realize that he’s angling toward the large wooden towers at the midpoint of the field. “You fight well with the staff and cudgel, but only against opponents of shadow and men of straw,” he says, referring to my practice dummies behind the manor house. He watched me far more than I realized. “You have no experience with the sword. You cut and defend well with the knife, but this isn’t a battle of defense that you face.”
I stay close to him but offer no response as he continues. “The way of strategy is long, it’s said, and your time is short. But that’s not a true statement. What is true is that the way of strategy is neither short nor long. It’s exactly the time it must be to the open heart and mind. This is what I would teach you.”
Nazar speaks with a fluid cadence, almost offhandedly, as if he’s discussing the morning’s meal. But his words strike me with an intensity I don’t expect. “I don’t understand.”
“The way is not understanding.” The priest stops and lifts his gaze to the structures where the two warriors fought. “It is knowing.” Turning to me, he drives his staff into the ground with a force I wouldn’t have expected. Then he folds his arms over his chest. “Summon your Divh. We must know what we have to work with.”
“I—”
He waves away my protest. “You are Merritt, warrior knight of the Tenth House. You’ve set foot upon the Lighted Path and cannot leave it. The way of the warrior is to reach the end of that path, which is death. There are no other options.”
My gaze snaps to his. “Warriors don’t die in tournaments, Nazar. They’re not supposed to die at all.”
He watches me with flat eyes. “All warriors die, if they are true. They also don’t deviate from their chosen path until thegoal is reached and their house is honored. Would you so quickly bring dishonor upon yourself and your house?”
I shift uneasily. “I have no house, Nazar. Not really.”
“Then act as if you do. Again, the way is not about understanding.” He plants his feet in a wide stance.