Free the Darkness (King's Dark Tidings Book 1) (40 page)

Looking into Rezkin’s crystal blue eyes and being so close
to his calm, reassuring presence, she realized she truly did feel safe. “I
know,” she said sincerely. Frisha took a deep breath and caught a whiff of
Rezkin’s clean, masculine scent. Suddenly, the troubles that had plagued her
only moments ago were assuaged. Her face and shoulders relaxed and she smiled.

Rezkin escorted Frisha up the stairs but stopped at his
door, allowing the young woman to continue down the corridor to her own room.
When he entered his own room he stretched his taut muscles and set about
checking the space for traps and poisons.

The next day, Rezkin woke early as usual. He made his way to
the stables to check on Pride and then found a clear area at the rear of the
property to practice his various fighting forms. He needed to keep his
Skills
honed, and he found that he could not bear the tedium of the languorous
outworlder lifestyle. It took much less effort to maintain his
Skills
now
that he had mastered each one, but he continued to feel anxious if he did not
get enough practice. It was simply another one of those habits that had been
conditioned into him throughout his life.

The night before, after he had returned to his room, he was
agitated and needed to release some of his pent up energy. Instead of going to
sleep right away, he spent a few hours crawling over the estate. He perused the
extent of the outer grounds, slinked across the roof, surveyed the cellar,
picked every lock and broke into each and every room. When he entered the
master suite that night, the general’s years of soldiering paid him service.
The older man awoke sensing something was amiss, but after he could not find
the source from where he lay, he fell back to sleep. An inspection of the
general’s office revealed the man kept nothing of political or military
interest in his home, and the household accounts and correspondence where
typical and of little interest.

When Rezkin finished his skulking about, he felt much more
at ease. The spy mission did more than just expend some of his pent up energy.
It had also served to allay some of his concerns about staying in the home of
the General of the Army for the kingdom against which he might just be a
traitor. Now that he had a thorough knowledge of the property, he could
formulate a number of escape routes and plan for the best positions of attack
and defense.

After the young warrior finished his morning routine, he
used the hand pump near the kitchen to rinse his body clean of sweat. The sun’s
first rays were just beginning to breach the horizon, and most of the household
was asleep or just beginning to stir. He entered the home through the rear of
the kitchens and procured a plate of bacon, eggs, and biscuits from the young
maid who assisted the cook. Rezkin thanked the young woman who smiled sweetly
and batted her lashes at him, and then he sat down at a small table to one
side. Just as he was finishing his meal, the general entered in search of his
own breakfast. Rezkin stood and performed a slight bow in greeting as the maid
cleared away his dishes.

“Up early, I see. It looks as if you have already performed
your physical training exercises, as well,” the general commented. It was his
attempt at civility but not being much of a conversationalist, he stuck to
soldier speak. The self-proclaimed warrior did not seem to mind.

Rezkin nodded once in the affirmative and said, “I have.”

General Marcum grunted, “If only all my soldiers were so
motivated. I would have an unbeatable army.”

Rezkin said nothing in response. He did not want to point
out how lacking he found the soldiers. Most of the officers he had seen could
hold their own, at least against each other, but the enlisted were little
better than farmers whose pitchforks had been swapped for swords. The poor
security he had encountered in Lorelis was quite discouraging, as well.

“So, what are your plans for today, Rezkin?” the general
asked casually. His wife had insisted on a long discussion with him about his
poor treatment of their guest the night before. The general was still
suspicious and uncomfortable having the mysterious, and apparently dangerous,
young man in his home and near his family. Adelina had been horrified when
Rezkin rightfully questioned his welcome after she accepted him as a guest.
Marcum received the brunt of her distress and was attempting to behave more
amiably this morning, even though his opinions had not changed.

The young man replied, “Frisha and Tam will be rising soon,
at which time we will conduct their daily weapons training. They expressed a
desire to visit some of the shops, so I intend to accompany them afterward. I
also need to restock a few of my medical supplies having used quite a few
during the journey.”

“You do not appear injured,” remarked the general.

“Indeed, I am not. After the first battle with the bandits I
used quite a few supplies in treating the soldiers. On the second leg of the
journey, a couple of incidents resulted in injuries for my companions, the
worst of which were incurred during the second bandit attack by Mistress
Reaylin,” Rezkin explained.

“You provided all of these treatments yourself?” the general
asked.

“Yes,” Rezkin replied. Knowing the general expected an
explanation, Rezkin continued, “During my training, I worked with several
healers in sort of an apprenticeship. I mastered the healing
Skills
of
treating injuries and illness, identifying and procuring healing plants and
minerals, and preparing potions, draughts, antidotes, and ointments.” Rezkin
thought it prudent to leave out the fact that he was also a Poison Master. “I
have no innate healing ability, however, so my abilities are limited to the
mundane.”

“You are a Master Healer of the Mundane? At nineteen?” the
general asked with incredulity.

Rezkin inclined his head in affirmation. A Master Healer
would also possess innate healing powers like Master Peider and were rare
enough to be extremely costly and in high demand. In fact, many Master Healers
did not bother to learn the mundane healing techniques if their powers were
great enough. A Master Healer of the Mundane, uncommon in itself, had all of
the skills of a healer without innate powers. Few healers reached the status of
Master Healer and were simply referred to as healers. Being a skilled Master Healer
of the Mundane could be quite lucrative.

“You have papers to prove your claim?” the general asked.

Rezkin shook his head, “I have no need of papers. Being a
healer is not my purpose in life. A lack of papers will not prevent me from
using the
Skills
when I need them.”

That was absurd. Why would someone spend years mastering
such a difficult profession not to use it? The general did not believe Rezkin’s
claim for a moment. “You said you are a warrior. I have not known many healers
to take up the sword. They concern themselves with healing people rather than
injuring them,” the general countered.

Rezkin shrugged. “I am many things,” he said cryptically.
The general was a shrewd man. He would have to be to gain the position he held.
Usually, Rezkin could get around people’s suspicions by saying little, but
General Marcum pressed him for answers.

Rezkin was saved from additional questions by Tam’s arrival.
“Good morning,” the affable young man said with a broad smile.

“Good morning, Tam,” Rezkin replied with a smile of his own.

“Tamarin,” the general nodded in greeting.

“Frisha will be down in a moment,” Tam supplied. Just as he
said this Frisha shuffled through the door. Tam looked at Rezkin
apologetically. “I nearly had to drag her from the bed,” he said.

“You could have slept a bit longer. You both needed the rest
after the journey,” Rezkin remarked.

Tam shook his head with a grin, “Your rules, Rezkin.
Training at dawn. You’re not the only one who can follow rules.”

Frisha gave Tam a sideways look that morphed into a scowl.
She was dressed in her tunic and pants and carried her belt and throwing knives
in her hand.

“What is this?” the general asked, remembering Rezkin had
said something about weapons training. “What are you three up to?”

Tam, still grinning, said, “Rez has been training us to
fight. He started teaching us both the sword, but then he switched Frisha to
throwing knives. He said something about not wanting her to get close enough to
the enemy to use a sword. Plus, she refused to carry one being a woman and
all…not that it stopped Reaylin.” Frisha scowled at the mention of the young
female warrior. Tam continued excitedly. “Look at this! He bought us weapons.
Lieutenant Jimson said my sword is better than the one the army issued him.”

The general grunted. “It is not difficult to find a sword
better than those. The one the lieutenant carries is probably better than most
since he is an officer, but those issued to the enlisted are little better than
scrap metal,” he remarked as he examined Tam’s blade.

“Then why do you use them?” Tam asked.

“If it were up to me, we would not,” General Marcum
answered.

Tam furrowed his brow in confusion. “But, you’re the General
of the Army. Isn’t it up to you?”

The general shook his head. “I am in charge of the army, not
the treasury. They are the best we can afford in bulk for the average soldier
based on the funds I am provided.”

“So who decides how much money you can spend and what you
can spend it on?” asked Tam.

“In this case, the king,” said the general. “King Bordran
kept the army supplied well, but since King Caydean was crowned, our funds have
been significantly reduced, and in the past few months, our recruitment quota
has increased.”

“The king is building up the army?” Rezkin asked.

“Indeed. Makes one wonder why, does it not?” General Marcum
commented.

“You don’t know?” asked Tam with surprise.

The general scoffed, “Not even
I
, the General of the
Army, knows why. I am not sure anyone but the king, himself, knows.” He handed
Tam back his sword. “This is a good sword. I am glad to see you are taking the
initiative to learn before you join up. If you perform well enough, you might
even some day break through the barrier and become an officer.”

“Commoners can do that?!” Tam questioned in excitedly.

Marcum nodded, “It is rare, but it can happen if a soldier
proves himself to be a great leader of men. Of course, it generally only
happens during times of war. The soldier must not only prove himself in battle,
but there must also be a need. In war, enemies will target the officers. If too
many fall, the army must look to promote others. It is to our advantage to
promote from within the seasoned veterans. Actually, I wish that I could
promote all of my officers in such a way. Raising a man as a noble does not
make him a soldier.”

General Marcum turned to Frisha. “Young lady, you are
learning knives? What have you there?” the general indicated her belt. Frisha,
still not ready to talk so early in the morning simply nodded and handed the
belt with knives to the general. Marcum studied the fine quality of the leather
and the decorative scrollwork. He examined the small knives and tested their
weight and edges. “This is a very nice gift, and an unusual design, I might
add. I do not think I have seen the like,” he remarked.

“I am still not very good,” Frisha mumbled, “but I can
sometimes stick them in the target, now, even if they don’t hit where I want
them to.”

General Marcum laughed. “Frisha, my dear, do not fret. If
you have achieved that, then you are doing well. These things take many years
to master.” Looking back to Rezkin he said, “I see that you have taken your
promise of protection to the next level, Rezkin. From the story I heard last
night, I can see that you have done well to protect them, but teaching them to
protect themselves and making sure they have decent weapons with which to do so
is most commendable.”

Rezkin bowed at the unexpected compliment and said, “It is
the best way to ensure their safety. I cannot be with both of them at all times.
Lieutenant Jimson has improved, as well, and I expect he will make a fine
showing in his tier at tournament.”

“Is that so? Perhaps there is a promotion in his future,
then,” the general commented. Glancing out of the kitchen door and noting the
lightening of the sky, General Marcum said, “It is time for me to be gone. I
have duties to which I must attend. Have a pleasant day.”

General Marcum strode down the wide lane deep in
contemplation. That
boy
could not possibly be a Master Healer of the
Mundane. At his age, he would have had to begin his apprenticeship at the age
of four or five. It was absurd. He did not believe Rezkin for a moment, but at
the same time he was wary of thinking him a liar. It was a contradiction he
could not resolve. Perhaps the young man had been duped. Some charlatan could
have taken him under his wing for a couple of years, for a price of course,
taught him a few herbs and techniques and proclaimed Rezkin a master. Marcum
might have been able to convince himself of that if Rezkin did not appear to be
so intelligent.

The young man was cultured, educated, well mannered, and
conducted himself with both courtly grace and the elegance of a skilled
warrior. Marcum had not yet seen the young man in action, but the way he moved indicated
he was either a dancer or practiced fighter. Rezkin did not look like a dancer.
He was a mystery the general could not solve. Every conclusion seemed to point
in a different direction. The only confluence he could find was one he did not
wish to consider.

Tam and Frisha worked their way through their exercises.
Tam’s motions grew more fluid as he became comfortable with the weight of the
sword and motions of the forms. Rezkin always knew exactly when Tam had not
performed correctly to the slightest nuance and was sure to correct him. In
addition to memorizing the movements of the sword forms, Tam was learning to
block. At first, Tam was hit nearly every time, but now he felt a growing sense
of pride every time he managed to block a strike.

Frisha found that she was better able to clear her mind and
focus when Rezkin was working with Tam. As soon as she caught the handsome
warrior’s attention, her concentration shattered and her blades would fly wide
or short of the target.  This morning, Frisha was having particular
difficulty clearing her mind. It was obvious her uncle did not care for Rezkin,
and she could not understand why. Rezkin was the model of perfection and had
been courteous and exceptionally tolerant of her uncle’s accusations the previous
night. Frisha had been utterly mortified by the entire turn of events.