Chapter XV - Practice

The first day of travel passed slowly. The forest fell quickly behind them and Zoe resigned herself to the monotony of their surroundings. They were traveling along the same roadway that she and the other captives had been driven down months before by Terrance Grant. The fields had been golden with ripe wheat then; now they were emerald green with developing plants as the sun gave heat and life to the hungry stalks of wheat, corn, and beans.

She surprised herself by breaking the silence that had blanketed the group for the last quarter hour. “How did the war between Elangsia and Aerilya begin?”

“You have not heard by now?” Tancred looked surprised. She shook her head and he glanced at Jaedon for a moment. “It is not a lengthy tale. The weather in the year previous to the beginning of the war was very dry. The lack of rain ruined most the crops in Aerilya and Elangsia, so both countries were forced to survive relatively foodless winters. Unfortunately, the next year the weather was much the same—very hot and arid—destroying the majority of that seasons crops as well.

“Famines are not completely unheard of in this region,” he continued. “Aerilya had long established a policy of collecting certain amounts of food when it was plenteous and storing it in large grain houses throughout the country, providing a means for nourishment during times of want. Elangsia had never instituted such a plan and they were virtually bereft of any food.” Tancred’s lips thinned humorlessly. “If they had simply asked the king of Aerilya for food and assistance, he was prepared to share it with them. Unfortunately, they never asked. During the second year of famine several rash Elangsian men formed a raiding party and forcefully stole food from a neighboring Aerilyan village that contained one of the granaries. When the village retaliated with equal force, Elangsia’s king sent out some troops to dispel the uprising. In the end, the village was half massacred because of the riot that started. Women, children, everybody.”

Zoe was silent and looked at the stone-strewn dirt ground they walked through, imagining it turning a cruel red from all the innocent blood spilled in a village. “What happened next?” she inquired quietly.

“King Trystellan sent in reinforcements to retaliate,” Tancred shrugged, squinting up at the sun. “Thus began this far too long conflict.”

“When did the slave trade begin?” She had difficulty getting the words out. Just thinking about her time of as a slave caused her to inwardly recoil.

“At some point early on in the war, the Elangsians began taking slaves from the Aerilyans. It became a viable trading business after some time.” Tancred’s voice was flat. “My father was the first who began freeing slaves and I continued after his death.”

She remembered that his father had been murdered. But by whom, specifically? And how can the Elangsians not know that they managed to kill the first Hunter? I never heard any rumors while in Ruma about the Hunter’s son taking up his father’s mantle; it’s obviously not well known that Tancred is the son of the original.

Zoe brought this up casually. “I assume the Elangsians killed your father.”

“Yes.” The terse comment was spoken in the harshest tone she had yet heard from Tancred and it surprised her.

Jaedon spoke for the first time since the beginning of the conversation. “He was murdered seven years ago, by command of King Brastus. Liam Ralyn was a good man and was silent to the end about his hidden life and mission. The Elangsians who killed him never knew they had the Hunter. Tancred took up Liam’s name without pause, merging seamlessly into his father’s life. So, to the Elangsians and indeed most of the Aerilyans, it appears that the Hunter is one man who has been around for twelve years.”

“I see.” She absently ran her tongue over her dry lips, content with the information she had gleaned from the two men. Going back to Ruma was going to be difficult and she wanted to be prepared for whatever might come up. Knowing a little more about Tancred’s father helped. It also clarified to her Tancred’s hate of King Brastus Alustate. That king ordered the death of Liam Ralyn—Tancred’s own father.

The three of them continued until nightfall without touching on any more grave topics. They ate a light supper of cheese and bread, washing it down with wine. Zoe had just finished swallowing her last bite when an object flew through the air toward her. She instinctively grabbed it to keep it from whacking her in the head and saw that it was her sword.

“Prepare yourself,” Jaedon ordered, his own sword already drawn as he advanced toward her.

She sprang to her feet and tossed the scabbard aside. Her muscles were tense and she threw herself into the duel with all her skill. She managed to evade his swift-flickering sword for almost five minutes but eventually the flat of his blade slapped down on her left shoulder, directly by her neck, stopping her in her tracks. She glared, aggravated at being beaten by him…again.

“Good form, but too practiced,” Jaedon commented.

Too practiced. She had heard that before. It did not take long to recall when: in Ruma, months earlier, when she had tried to escape out the backyard with Tancred’s artifact sword. They had crossed blades for all of ten seconds before he disarmed her. Her eyes now darted to where he sat comfortably by the small, smokeless fire, wordlessly observing. Judging by the tiny laugh lines around his eyes, he remembered the incident all too well. She gritted her teeth and then took a deep breath.

“This time, improvise what you know,” Jaedon instructed, lifted his sword. “Again.”

They practiced for half an hour, exchanging blows and each gaining bruises, Zoe noticeably more than Jaedon. Jaedon sheathed his sword after knocking her to the ground. “Wash your lip,” he told her calmly.

Zoe clenched her sword grip tightly, her heart pounding. She tasted blood on her tongue, but was loathe to stop now. Being repeatedly bested was irritating, at best; humiliating, at worst.

Careful to conceal her trembling muscles, she smoothly sheathed her blade and walked to the water skin that hung on a nearby branch. She dumped a little of the cool liquid into her hands and splashed her face with it. Drying her face with the edge of her cloak, which lay in close proximity, she carried it back to her side of the fire and lowered herself to the ground with as much dignity as she could muster. “Good night,” she said curtly.

“Good night,” Jaedon’s voice rumbled back pleasantly, and Tancred’s soon followed. Zoe closed her eyes and determinedly concentrated on sleep.

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The next days continued much like the first had: long hours of monotonous travel, interspersed with brief encounters between them and fellow travelers, then a quick camp in protected hollows or tree coppices. She and Jaedon always sparred after eating dinner, and Zoe’s body protested loudly against the exertion each morning when she dragged herself up. She had considered herself reasonably dedicated to weapons practice each day back at the Hunter’s camp; now she realized that she could have sought out more skilled swordsmen to practice with. She had yet to disarm Jaedon and it irked her.

On the fourth night she flew at Jaedon, pretending recklessness. He defended against her swift assault and blocked her sword easily, but when she slashed toward his head, checked herself, and instead drove the point at his chest, he hesitated and missed her blade. She pushed the point against his chest with victory, though she was careful not to pierce his tunic.

He laughed at her expression of fierce triumph. “Very good,” he praised. “You are improvising at last. Now, do it again.”

Zoe lowered her blade as an uncontrollable smile spread across her face. Finally! They continued dueling and each managed to disarm the other twice. She had a cut on her arm and a new bruise on her shin when they finished, but her achievement lit her face with a flush of pleasure that would not go away and the new injuries meant little to her.

On the evening of the fifth day, they stopped at a clump of pine trees that covered approximately an acre of land and was situated half a days ride from Ruma. The pines were thick enough to hide all traces of their camp, which they pitched in the nexus of the trees. As they ate a cold supper of rye bread and water, Jaedon brought up a topic that he said was unable to be ignored any longer: Zoe’s garb.

“You cannot go into Ruma dressed as you are,” he said, glancing at her worn thigh-length tunic and matching trousers. “And your weapons will have to be hidden or disposed of entirely during our stay. Both those and your clothes will draw too much unwanted attention.”

Zoe frowned. “I know that,” she replied, looking at her comfortable, practical garments with an unbidden sigh. “Lady Shyla already spoke to me about this.”

Tancred cocked one of his eyebrows at the mention of his mother, but Zoe ignored him. She had been doing a great deal of ignoring him since the trip began. Although, if she thought about it for long, she realized that Tancred had been strangely silent the last few days, giving her little need to consciously avoid him. Shaking free of that mildly disturbing train of thought, she finished with a tone of finality: “I will be ready when we reach the city.”

Jaedon nodded. “If you are prepared, then we have no need to worry.” He tossed his cloak aside and Zoe grabbed her nearby sword, ready to meet him once again. To her surprise, Tancred silently rose to his feet, holding his unsheathed blade easily. Jaedon simply moved further away from the fire and said, “Tancred will be sparring with you tonight.”

Splendid, she thought sarcastically. To her annoyance, she was more nervous about being thought weak or unskilled by Tancred than she was by Jaedon. Get your mind away from such stupidity, she warned herself harshly. He’s not going to be an easy opponent.

Tancred had also disposed of his cloak and now shed his leather jerkin. Only his lightweight tunic with its casually rolled up sleeves remained on his top half, revealing the corded muscle in his forearms. Zoe felt a glimmer of uncertain dread. Don’t back down. Don’t…back…down!

He slashed his great sword around with apparent ease, and she matched his movements with deadly grace. They moved from one end of the small encampment to the other, avoiding the fire, Jaedon, and the horses without even thinking. All their energy was poured into the encounter, sharply focused on the individual whom they were sparring. Suddenly all the world was whittled down to the blades flashing in front of her and the piercing blue eyes that stared unswervingly in her direction.

Time lost its meaning as they continued to fight. Zoe was grateful at least that she had lasted more than a few seconds against him. They were still warily testing each other’s boundaries; she was unsure what he thought of her, but she was already very aware that he had tremendous strength that he was channeling into this battle.

The single remaining doubt was simply: How long can I withstand such strength before I crack?

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She was strong. But not completely fearless, Tancred observed as he watched her dark green gaze focus intently on him and his sword. He had seen the uncertainty that shimmered in her eyes, quite against her will. Somehow the proof that she was not as unbreachable as she wished him to think encouraged him. He was not sure why; it just did.

She was also very skilled. He had known she was good—no one disarmed Jaedon if they were not—but she was better than he expected. She tested his boundaries, persistently pushing him to use all his skill and dexterity.

His sword darted down and she blocked it a moment before it reached her leg; hers flashed toward his shoulder, twisted unexpectedly, and angled down to his ribs. He deterred it just in time. Zoe spun under his blade and her hair fell loose from its leather restraint, tumbled around her shoulders in a flaming curtain. Tancred slowed for a split second, oddly struck by her beauty. He had not noticed it before; now, as she poured all her spirit into defeating him, her unique, almost untamable attractiveness—in some way previously concealed—rose to the surface. Just who are you, Zoe? he questioned, continuing to block and parry but suddenly feeling as if he had missed a step in a complex dance.

Jaedon’s voice pierced the fog that roiled through his mind. “Enough,” he commanded deeply. “Enough!”

Tancred and Zoe both paused in the middle of parrying, their muscles tight and covered with a sheen of sweat. They stared at each other for a long moment, her eyes wide and a strand of hair falling over her sweat-glistening forehead. He pulled back first, walked calmly across the camp and sheathing his sword. She followed his example with just as much poise, leaning her sheathed sword against a nearby tree. It was dark now, Tancred noted with faint surprise. Night had arrived sometime between the end of supper and now. The firelight flickered, casting long shadows and leaving a reddish-orange glow on everything it touched.

Tancred shook back his damp hair and forced his mind back to the mission. The combat had distracted him more than he cared to be. “Tomorrow we will reach Ruma.”

Jaedon nodded. “Everything is ready,” he stated, as if to reassure Tancred that all was well. Tancred was not especially worried, though it did him good to hear that everything was in order.

“How are you planning to get information about the Wild Men?” Zoe’s voice came from the other side of the camp. Tancred turned to look questioningly at her on the other side of the camp as she tied her hair back. She finished and faced him squarely. “I assume these treaties and alliances between countries aren’t conducted in the city square. How do you gain access to such privileged information?”

“I know the right kind of people. I simply have to return to Ruma as their well-known and trusted trader from Meru with new artifacts to show them. One of them always has the information that I need. Several of my regular customers are advisors to King Brastus and have daily access to him.”

“Most of his customers are wealthy and influential,” Jaedon added. “The middle- and lower-class don’t have the kind of money or information that we are looking for.”

They’re more oppressed than anything else, Tancred thought. He had long felt pity for the inhabitants of Elangsia who were ruled by such a callous government. They suffered for it by paying unnecessarily heavy taxes and being caught in the middle of the long conflict that had been going on between Elangsia and Aerilya. And if the Wild Men ally with Elangsia, there will undoubtedly be a large scale battle occurring in the countryside around Ruma. Many innocents will die if that happens. He felt the heaviness of responsibility weigh on him; he grew weary just thinking about it. Despite being of Aerilyan nationality, he did not wish to wreak more death upon Elangsia’s inhabitants, especially the guiltless ones.

“How do you get these informants of yours to talk freely about privileged information?” Zoe asked skeptically. “It seems unlikely that loyal Elangsians would share such things with you.”

“You might be surprised how freely their tongues wag with a trusted merchant friend,” Jaedon told her. “Especially one they believe comes from a country like Meru, which is not at all involved in this war. However, their words come more easily if Tancred arranges their business meeting to be conducted in a tavern where the drinks come quick and cheap.”

“Sometimes not so cheap,” Tancred stated ruefully, thinking of some of the more upscale taverns he had handled “business” in previously. He wondered what Zoe thought of him getting his patrons drunk to learn their secrets. Her expression was difficult to read in the faded light. She must realize it is my duty to my own country, he thought.

“It is late,” she said suddenly. “I wish to get some rest before tomorrow.”

Tancred inclined his head slightly and agreed. “I will take first watch, Jaedon.”

Jaedon nodded and rolled himself into his cloak to get some rest. Zoe had originally volunteered to help with the night watch but Tancred and Jaedon were adamantly against it and she apparently decided it wasn’t worth a fight.

The night deepened, and Jaedon and Zoe fell into slumber swiftly. Tancred looked up at the star-filled sky and sought Deus. It was a natural instinct that he had cultivated his entire life. Guide me, Lord. Keep my mind sharp and focused. Show me what I’m supposed to discover while I’m here.

He glanced at Zoe’s sleeping form. He wondered if she believed in Deus and Christus. He was under the impression that she was familiar with the Lord, perhaps even believed in His existence, but she seemed too hostile and lost to actually be a devoted follower of the True King. Christus, make Yourself known to her. She needs your love and guidance, whether she will admit to it or not. Nothing else will fill the emptiness that is inside of her, nor heal the pain that continuously stalks her. Her pride keeps her from earnestly seeking You; I humbly ask that You allow nothing, not even her pride and self-reliance, to keep You from bringing her to her knees before You.

Tancred stared into the fire, mesmerized by the smoldering flames. Grant us all the protection that you have extended to me since I first began this lifestyle. I care little for myself or my life, for all I am is Yours. But I wish nothing ill on those who are with me.

His thoughts meandered to his father and his heart clenched. Just a few miles from here lay the place of his father’s death. It never failed to put him in an introspective mood when he came near the city. He remembered Liam Ralyn well, which he viewed as a blessing and a curse: a blessing, for he would always cherish the memories of Liam; a curse, for those recollections were just recollections and would never be more than that. And now there were no more chances to create additional memories with his father. I will probably never understand why You took him, he prayed slowly, his fist clenching. But Deus, I will keep striving; endeavoring to trust You, though that choice is never without accompanying pain. Place me where You can use me. I will persist to serve you.

The night grew deeper and later but still he sought the Unseen One for more strength and courage to reinforce his spirit. The fire danced silently and Tancred’s prayers wended up into the velvet heavens like the faintly glinting golden sparks.