The Chosen (The Compendium of Raath, Book 1) (6 page)

“I've heard that story,” Krothair said.
Despite his best efforts his eyes began to water and his throat
tightened. The hope he'd had was draining away. “So. Is this what
you wanted to talk to me about?” he asked. “Serving on the
Vaporgaard?”

Germon shrugged slightly as his shirt fell
back into place. “You're looking for your place. I can see it in
your eyes every day. And let's face it – we're not as important out
here as we used to be. The hill is quiet. We get the occasional
thief to catch, the occasional animal gone bat-shit crazy, the
occasional territory dispute to see to. But the war . . . the war
is over for now. You've never even seen true action here. I've
forgotten what it was like. I've been ordered to lighten our
personnel. You are one of the ones that I am going to let go.”

“More wandering?” asked Krothair. “Should I
just wander down to the Vapor and have at it?” He couldn't tell if
he was mad or not. He knew he was hurt, but couldn't tell what type
of hurt. A father: that was something Krothair had forgotten about
long ago. But Germon had been . . . close. And now, as much as he
had wanted to go gallivanting off to the Kingsguard he was now
frightened of the prospect of leaving this place.

Germon had taken him in.
Germon had shown him off to the others.
Like he was proud of me . . .

“No,” Germon said. “They don't take
untrained wretches down there on the Vapor. No, if you didn't get
proper training you'd be Foglin food within the hour. Even with
training it took me little over a month to get slashed. Anyway, I
pulled some old, fraying strings and arranged for you to train with
Ti'Shed Hawkethorn in Haroma. You can leave within the hour if you
like.”

So Germon had set the whole
thing up already. Krothair had always been able to choose his own
path, and he supposed he still was able to, but something about the
name Ti'Shed was familiar. “Germon,” Krothair said, realizing.
“Ti'Shed was the one who trained both Kelin
and
Telin Lightbearer.”

“Well, not exclusively, of course, but the
man was definitely involved. He also trained me. He still owes me a
few favors so I'm calling them in. I want you to be careful,
though. I've told him of your prowess and he may push you
incredibly hard, but if you come out of the training, you will be
ready to serve the Vaporgaard with honor.” Germon set an envelope
on his desk. “Directions to Ti'Shed's house along with my
seal.”

“Do you have a horse for me?” the boy asked,
stepping forward to grasp the envelope in a sweaty hand.

“I do,” Germon nodded. “You've taken to this
idea quickly. But I knew you would.” The older man's brow wrinkled.
He stood, came to Krothair, and laid a heavy, rough hand on his
shoulder. “Don't give up on your dreams, Krothair. If you do, your
hair turns gray and your eyesight fades. The men of the Kingsguard
can't live forever, you know, no matter what the stories say. They
are just men. But, for now, the Vapor is the best place for you.”
Germon smiled. “I know Irving thinks so, anyway.”

“He's truly awful,” Krothair said, letting a
small laugh escape his lips despite his sadness. “You might want to
teach him to parry a bit better. Or at all.”

“You leave him to me,” Germon said.

Krothair tucked the Kingsguard paper back
into his shirt pocket and nodded his head while backing slowly
towards the door. “Thank you,” he said quietly.

Germon smiled sadly and went back behind his
desk. “Show me one of your medals someday,” he said. He bent
towards his papers, quill in hand.

Krothair willed himself through the door,
deciding to move on despite whatever he would lose or gain from it.
He could always come back here.

But he wondered if he would ever see Germon
after today.

I
t
wasn't far to the city of Haroma. It would be three or four hours'
hard ride at most. Krothair had been many places in his life, but
never into the heart of a city as big as Haroma. The paper that
Germon had given him rested in the same pocket as his Kingsguard
paper now.
Perhaps they will call me
the Paper Soldier
, he mused.

The countryside whizzed past him. The gray
mare that Germon had given him wasn't the best horse in the world,
but Krothair knew her from his time in the Western Watch and the
horse liked him.

It hadn't taken him long to
gather his things because he didn't
have
many things. He and Germon had
gone through the Western Watch's supplies and picked out the best
sword they had, stuffed it into a sheath, and hung it from his
waist. It swung there now, in time with the mare's hoof beats.
Likely Krothair would be given a new sword, but he might have to
earn it as well. Germon hadn't known how Ti'Shed would operate or
what exactly Krothair should expect, despite the fact that he had
trained with him. Germon had described Krothair's new master as
fluid and slightly quixotic.

Houses started to appear with more
regularity: low little things all made of wood with fields around
them. The early indications of a rough road began to appear, and
the horse had a much easier time walking on the even, hard-packed
ground. The sun was just beginning to drift below the horizon and
the day was just giving way to the coldness of night. Krothair
didn't feel it at all.

Then something started
to
rise
over the
horizon. The city walls of Haroma were massive. Torches blazed
their contention to the approaching night. Krothair could see the
road winding all the way up to the walls, and for the first time in
his life he could smell what could only be the ocean. It was a
sensation he had never really prepared for. The salt tang hit him
full on; even the mare snorted a little bit.

Haroma was set with its eastern side to the
ocean. Krothair had heard stories of the Golden Fleet, but had
never seen a ship in his life. He had been to a few cities, but
this was to be the largest by a wide margin. A full half-million
people lived here. This number was almost too big for Krothair to
comprehend.

T
en more minutes of hard riding brought him to a bustling
crowd trying to get into the gates. As Krothair brought the gray
horse up, he took a moment to let himself be overwhelmed.
Everything had become like a dream. Details were completely lost in
the grandiose feeling he had.

Someone was talking to him, and he said
something, but he couldn't remember what. Someone bumped into his
leg and swore at him to get out of the way. He obliged. He
dismounted. He wasn't sure if that was what he was supposed to do,
but he didn't feel right riding the horse into the city. He didn't
see anyone else riding horses. And anyway, he wanted to go in on
his own two feet. It seemed even more grand that way.

The colors began to pierce his vision now.
Vibrant costumes of every hue: bright blue shirts, red dresses and
cloaks, yellow shoes, even. Krothair had never seen yellow shoes. A
fat man wore no shirt at all despite the cold. His skin was
hairless and scarred. Most women were bundled in soft furs. There
were carriages, horses, people, a few dogs – coming, going, coming,
going. Conversations: yelling, arguing, laughter, apologies,
excuses, the occasional scream.

He was lost in the crowd.

A guard looked down from
the top of the wall, but Krothair wasn't sure that the man could
actually be of much use.
One guard for all
these people? One guard to keep order at the gates of a city like
Haroma?

Germon had once told him: “A man alone can
be more effective than two. Where two men are reckless, one is
careful.” That didn't seem to fit this situation, though.

His eyes betrayed him and he knew it. He
looked harder and found a few more guards blending in with the
citizenry. A few more peering out of arrow slits. Then he saw the
heavy metal doors. He wondered how many men it would take to close
them and knew there must be even more guards around somewhere.

And, just like that, while musing about the
guards, he was inside. Sundown was a busy time, apparently. People
were leaving, their business done for the day. Where theirs was
ending, Krothair's was beginning.

Finding where Ti'Shed lived wouldn't be so
hard. With the reins grasped tightly in one gloved hand, Krothair
led his horse through the streets.

“A boy with a sword that
size could have any lady he wanted,” some woman yelled to Krothair.
She stood outside of a dilapidated looking house. Krothair could
see more women through the dimly lit windows. He looked at the
woman who had yelled at him, nodded politely, and kept walking.
There would probably be lots of whores here. No sense in getting
distracted.
Does Kelin Lightbearer get
distracted by women?
They're probably
always bothering him about
his
sword, Warbreaker. It
is
a really great sword.

Krothair turned left at the Finch Tavern, a
place Germon had labeled on his crudely drawn map. He could smell
the ocean more strongly now, and as much as he longed to look at it
there would plenty of time for that later. He didn't want to stray
from his goal.

The house he eventually
came upon was smaller than he would have expected. It was in a nice
section of town, lush with plants and gardens that looked like they
had been tended. Yet the small abode he stood before now didn't
look like the dwelling of a sword master.
Where will we train? In some adorned courtyard?

Krothair tied his horse to something he
thought might have been a hitch and knocked on the door. It opened
almost immediately.

Inside stood an old man, but Krothair didn't
for a second think that it wasn't Ti'Shed Hawkethorn. The boy
wouldn't make an embarrassing mistake and say something stupid
like, “I'm looking for Master Hawkethorn. Have you seen him
about?”

For starters, everything about the man was
dangerous: the way he stood, the slight scowl he wore, even the
speed with which he had opened the door. And then there was the
grip he had when Krothair shook his hand. The boy felt his eyes
widening in shock at the iron force that was crushing down on his
fingers.

“You're Krothair Mallurin,” Ti'Shed said.
His voice was smooth as ice and didn't sound as old as he looked.
“Am I saying that right? Mah-loo-rin?”

Krothair nodded.

“Slight accent on the 'loo', then? Places
your birthplace farrrrrr west of here. Ah, yes, but you've been
orphaned. So perhaps whoever named you simply has a western
sensibility. Around here it would probably be mal-yoo-rin, with the
'mal' accented. Come in. Didn't expect you so late, but here you
are.”

“My horse,” Krothair said clumsily. He felt
like an oaf in front of Ti'Shed.

“We'll take care of her,” Ti'Shed said,
peering out at the beast. “Has a gimp leg.”

Krothair didn't think she did, but Ti'Shed
had probably been around warhorses all his life and was certainly a
much better judge of horseflesh.

“A little,” Krothair said.

“Ah,” Ti'Shed said. “That's our first
lesson, then. If you think someone's wrong, tell them you think
they are wrong. Your horse looks fine.” He stepped into the
house.

Krothair followed him, his face hot.

“N
ot much light left today,” Ti'Shed said, gazing out a window.
The old man walked over to a wood-burning stove and retrieved a
kettle off the top. “I've heard much about you,” he continued. “The
wandering swordsman, yes? The orphan savant?”

“Something like that,” Krothair said.
“Germon told me to give you this. Has his seal on it.” Krothair
started to dig in his pocket but Ti'Shed stopped him with a
gesture.

“No need. Germon always was a little too
caught up in formalities for my taste, even in his training. I
believe you are who you say you are, and I believe you have come
here for the reasons Germon said. You wish to train with me.”

“More than anything."

Ti'Shed chuckled lightly,
but he still had a hard look on his face. Even when he was being
jovial he looked that way.
It's just part
of who he is.

“More than anything,” the old man echoed.
“More than you'd like to don the crest of the Kingsguard?”

Krothair was silent.

“Another lesson. Exaggeration is a dangerous
thing. It is entirely too close to lying for my tastes.”

“I would like to train with you,” Krothair
said quietly.

Ti'Shed set the kettle down on the table. “I
hate tea,” the old man said, “and that is no exaggeration.”

“Then why drink it?” said Krothair.

“Drink it?” said Ti'Shed, looking amused. In
a split second he had the kettle back in his hand and in one smooth
motion flung it towards Krothair's head.

The boy's hand was on his hilt in the blink
of an eye. The dull training sword screamed out of its sheath and
caught the kettle in the side, deflecting it with a loud ping. It
clattered to the ground spilling not a single thing.

Because it had been empty.

Ti'Shed nodded as Krothair stood
incredulous.

“You used your sword when dodging might have
been easier, but your reflexes are as fast as any I have seen on
one your age, save for those who would become master thieves. I
like to encourage goodness. You may train with me starting
tomorrow." Ti'Shed smiled just a tiny bit. “Now, you look hungry.
Do you want something to eat?”