Chapter 30: A Day Out

Sethlzaar began using his veils with his brothers the days that followed, the wooden sword becoming a thing of the past. They swung, parried, and thrusted, their veils proving more efficient than the wood as Father Ordan would remind them of how the accidental chopping off of an arm was not going to help any of them.

"A one armed man is useful to the seminary," Ordan told them. "But, it would rather have its priests complete."

Whilst Narvi gained fame for his way with the sword, Sethlzaar gained fame for something more active and less discreet: his way with the bow. To the anger of Takaris, he proved himself capable of soaring even higher than his mates with it, something up to the moment of his display they did not believe possible.

He displaced every target assigned him, be it stationary, aerial or in transit, hitting his every mark with relative ease and a mundane display of his mastery of the art, only adding a touch of flair when Priestess Emeril wasn't watching, drawing the occasional awes of his mates, and floggings whenever he was caught. Though he often caught a hint of a smile on Emeril whenever she punished him for such an offence.

"The Monsignor has informed me that I should let the lot of yer taste the outside air on the morrow," Ordan informed them on the eve of Nurnsahel. "I would remin' yer that this is not a chance for yer to begin yer body coun', but, if yer must, yer have my permission. The boys an' girls will wan' a taste of yer because yer are a mystery to them... to that, I say, don' be stupid."

The night found them in cheerful banter concerning their outing. Omage seeming to know the towns nearby most, gave directions and instructions as he had done on their first day out. Their first outing had been uneventful, spent mostly getting to know the city. They found the roofs didn't stand too high off the ground in the parts of Arslagh where the seminary was situated, and found with little disappointment that the tall building lay in the heart of the city where the King resided.

"I reckon a drop from there shouldn't kill you, brother," Takaris had joked to Soartin once. "So we should see how fast you can get there."

Maybe we'll get to actually enjoy ourselves this time, Sethlzaar thought as he lay eyes open in the dark room.

Narvi turned in his bed, drawing his attention as the outing had him wondering how well Soartin was going to be. The brother seemed to have gotten over the loss of Canabi, but Sethlzaar feared he might prove better at disguising his emotions amongst all of them.

"I'm going to get me a nice new blade," Tamael announced at breakfast while they ate.

"What do you need one for?" Alsipin asked. "The seminary has better ones."

"Yes, but not fancy ones."

Sethlzaar understood the allure of beauty when it came to weapons; the pattern on his bow showed the truth. Unlike his mates, he was the only one of them permitted to carry more than a throwing knife and his veils around the seminary. He had been informed that the exception to carry a bow was optional, but he could see the compulsion in Emeril's eyes when Ordan gave him the news. So he always walked with his veils strapped diagonally, crossing over each other, across his back, hilts visible over both shoulders, and throwing knives in his grey cloak. When they had been new in the seminary only allowed to carry wooden swords, and only when they were to be used for training, he remembered how they'd always looked at the older children with their veils in anticipation.

The first few days felt special as they walked around with the veils on backs, but it soon grew old. Now, all they felt was a sense of maturity, and Sethlzaar found he liked it. But carrying his black bow made him feel special even now. More special than he'd thought they would.

He had experienced the uncomfortable inspecting eyes of all the children, especially the older ones during the first days, and rumors of him being the first bow of their generation had already begun spreading. But it, too, had grown old, and now it was of normal occurrence to hear of it. But despite the fame, he understood the necessity of carrying his bow at all time.

"Keep your bow with you at all times," Filiis had lectured once. "Have it until the touch of it becomes a phantom to your fingers. Then have it some more."

"I hear there's a festival today," Soartin said casually, returning him to the present.

Takaris nodded. "I heard it too. Dumb noble finally got himself a son and reckons he can run the city shitless with a party."

"Which means today is going to be fun," Narvi observed.

Sethlzaar smiled. "More pockets to pick."

"More girls to meet." Takaris smiled, smug.

"And more active guilds," Omage added, his face downcast, finalizing all the optimism.

"I'm..." Takaris began with an effort, "sorry about last time."

Sethlzaar always found it entertaining whenever the proud boy forced himself to apologize. "Well run faster this time," he joked. Although, he didn't mind finding himself running from a guild like they had done in their last outing.

"So who's this noble?" Narvi asked after a while.

"Erm... not sure," Soartin replied uneasily, drawing a smile from Sethlzaar. The boy was always composed whenever he spoke, but his hesitation spoke loads about the surprise the others felt at Narvi's questions.

Not being one for questions, Narvi usually just acted and gave instructions whenever it was needed. Ever since his trip to the Sarkish forest, Sethlzaar discovered in his absence they had all developed an obedience to the brother. He now looked and acted more like the leader the Monsignor intended him to be.

Rising from his seat Narvi passed out his instructions quickly. "Meet at the south gate in thirty minutes," he told them, then turned away.

They nodded in acquiescence as they left the table, concluding their breakfast.

After retrieving his stash containing a number of coins he had stolen on their last outing, Sethlzaar made his way to the stables. He visited as often as he could but not as frequently as he used to.

"So," Father Bjorg began as he brushed one of the horses gently. "How does it feel to be first bow?"

Sethlzaar caressed his bow absently. The black coloring of the wooden bow was mixed with a considerable amount of flakes of vaelusian ore to aid it in withstanding blows from swords, a trick he doubted even the seminary was capable of.

"It's growing on me," he replied, taking his hand from it.

"Yes. Priestess Emeril was also uncomfortable for a while when she was first made first bow in the convent. Grew on her easily, too."

Sethlzaar looked at him, confused. "You knew Priestess Emeril when she was in the convent?"

Bjorg's age was always a bit difficult to determine. Only his grey hair gave away his grating age, whereas his build and movements only offered the opinion of a seasoned warrior still in the prime of his years, but he had been a priest at the Seminary for a very long time. Suffice to say, he was as old as father Ordan.

"I did," Bjorg answered. "But that aside, it would seem you are the only one who has not seen Alsipin's wolf. Would you like to?"

Sethlzaar had always heard his brothers talk of the wolf and how it would not eat any of the meat they offered it, saying it would only eat what it hunts. Something about how they spoke of it piqued his interest on many occasions, as if they were more frightened of it than awed. Deciding it was about time he knew what his brothers knew, he answered.

"Yes."

The Kennel proved surprisingly larger than the stables and, considering how often he spent his time at the stables, he found himself feeling a sense of shame for having never entered it as he walked in. There were various animals in the kennel: snakes, dogs, wolves and others, but mostly hunting dogs. On arrival at where Alsipin's wolf was, he was surprised to find its space considerably larger than all the other animals.

Because it hunts, he surmised. "I understand that it needs to hunt, but why all the special treatment for one wolf?"

"At first I thought it was just a stubborn wolf," Bjorg said, sounding eager to share his discovery, "but I believe we might have a Lire wolf on our hands. It doesn't respond kindly to humans, and it was found all on its own with no injuries, which is rare to see amongst wolves. Although," he mused, "the blizzard could account for that."

It wasn't found alone; it was simply the only one alive... "So..." Sethlzaar pressed, instead.

"I haven't seen one before, but the speed at which it grows is enough evidence for me; faster than the other wolves."

"If it's one, and the stories I've heard are true, then it might never be useful."

"Yes." Bjorg seemed unperturbed by the update. "But if I can get it to mate with one of the wolves, then we can have a litter. Just think about it: mixed breeds weaker than Lire wolves, but stronger than normal wolves."

"But those already exist, and I'm sure we have them too."

Sethlzaar found the conversation tiring. Apart from the horses and far smaller animals, he never had a liking for animals in general. Even his tolerance for horses was something that had taken him time to adapt. Now, caring for them came as easily as walking.

Bjorg cocked his head to his side in thought. "Yes, they exist," he said, "but they are too diluted, their heritage drawing too far back. But this would ensure us with the purest of mixed breeds possible."

Sethlzaar worried at the huge priest's excitement at the prospect. There were carcasses packed to one corner of the stone-walled kennel the wolf was in along with a few pieces of meat at the entrance.

"As the children learned of its refusal of offered meat, they made a game of it," Bjorg said, noting Sethlzaar's attention. "So they come and drop theirs whenever they have the chance."

Sethlzaar looked up at him. "Isn't that a waste of meat?"

Bjorg shrugged. "Not really. I take them out, and give them to the other animals by the end of the day. But there's no harm in trying."

Sethlzaar realizing he had stayed too long, rose from his position, said his goodbye to Bjorg, and made his way for the exit.

Bjorg stopped him in his tracks with an outstretched hand holding a bucket of meat. "How about you drop yours before you go."

As much as he had berated the practice, Sethlzaar saw no harm in engaging it. "Alright."

He took a piece of meat from the bucket and placed it along with the others. As he drew his arm back his eyes met the wolf's.

Its eyes were blue like other wolves, but somehow they seemed more pronounced than them. Still. Observant. Sethlzaar found himself compelled to the thought of what it would feel like to master such a beast before he left.

The others were already assembled and waiting when Sethlzaar arrived at the south gate. Takaris was visibly annoyed by his tardiness. Apart from that, the others didn't seem too bothered. Their days of the wild had proved a bit tasking after their test of the mist, as Karnamis would walk without making an effort to lead them through it, but it had grown on them, and even Sethlzaar found crossing it a normal task now.

"So long in the seminary and I still hate them," Takaris said after leaving the wolf gate, his words intended upon the red eyes of the wolf.

The gates were the same on all four sides of the seminary; huge and unfenced with a metal wolf head carved out of it with red eyes.

Cenam simply watched the eyes in the same awe he always did whenever they passed any of the gates.

As they walked through the mist they spoke of the things they would buy as well as how they intended to enjoy the festival. The first time they had left the seminary unsupervised Sethlzaar had wondered if the mist was the least thick there compared to the other gates, and now he was certain. He saw clearer in it than in the others and wondered if it was because it was the part the seminary took when it chose to socialize with the outside world.

It was a relief when they finally stepped out of the mist and into the fresh air of the woods—as fresh as could be considered. They moved through the woods for roughly two miles before making a turn and heading up another mile for the main road.

They'd barely stepped onto it when they found it busier than they'd anticipated. Farmers carrying their produce to be sold at the festival and groups of people they could only surmise where there for the fun, not so much unlike them, trampled the dirt roads in their individual glee. It was the largest number of people Sethlzaar had ever seen in one place, and he soon found that he didn't do so well in crowds.

The crowd often made failed attempts at clearing their way as they walked, shoving and squeezing through whatever spaces they could find.

Omage seemed to have a destination in mind as they moved through the crowd, resisting the flow that threatened to carry them. Sethlzaar found himself wondering why the seminary did nothing to teach them about how best to navigate a crowd. It wasn't long before he understood why. They made their way through the crowd with relative ease, their movements easing them against the flow so subtly that it had taken him time to realize it.

As they moved he found himself distracted by one of the side entertainments: a man sliding what proved to be a seventh sword into his mouth from point to hilt as his audience applauded him, and he remembered Fen's stories of such people during carnivals.

"Their bodies are not like ours, that's why they can do such things," the boy had told him when he'd asked if it was because the people were blessed.

Pulling himself from his distraction, he continued after his brothers, passing a palm reader on his way. The elderly woman had a customer's palm in her hand and was saying something concerning finding the woman of his dreams, drawing a smile from Sethlzaar as he wondered if there was a possible crime in what she was doing. He'd heard stories of touched who'd possessed the touch of sight, acclaiming themselves capable of seeing a man's destiny should they choose to.

They continued on a while longer before he stopped again at an illusionist who was drawing an apple from thin air. Fen had told him that the illusionists were not touched because they were required to submit their tricks which would be approved by the realm's guild of illusionists before it could be displayed at such events.

While watching, he felt a tug at his cloak, firm and demanding. He turned his head and found only Cenam and wondered just how far behind the others he was. Cenam turned and fell into a run, Sethlzaar following fast behind him through the crowd. They caught up to the rest not long after.

"Where were you?" Narvi asked.

"I got distracted," Sethlzaar answered as he followed them, finding himself in front of a bar. Above the building was written 'Oakwood.' Apparently it was the name of the bar. It was noisy, and Sethlzaar wondered what exactly was happening inside.

Omage led them in, pushing the door open gently. As they walked in the noise subsided, a little silence dawning on those closest to the doors. They made their way to a long table with benches on both sides.

The tables where stained with alcohols of different kinds and dried blood at some of the edges, proof that the fights tended to end in blood. It reminded Sethlzaar of his time with Valerik in the tavern outside the city. And as they took their seats, he noted the stains of ale on their table and, ignoring them, took his seat at one end of the bench.

Alsipin took the space beside him.

"They'll be with us in a moment," Omage said as they sat, but Sethlzaar found himself more interested in observing the customers.

Some watched them with wary eyes, others seemed to look at them as a challenge, men and boys alike. We might be dealing with men as well Father Ordan.

"...I'm busy right now, sir. I'll send one of the girls out back for you," a girl with a tray holding cups of drinks was saying to a man at one of the tables.

"I don't want no whore, love. I want you," the man drawled with no evident sign of drunkenness. It was a normal practice in that part of the city for taverns to offer the services of whores even though there were whore houses in different parts of the city.

"I... am not... for sale." She stumbled across the sentence, struggling to escape the man's grip around her waist.

She was pretty, not much older than Sethlzaar. The gown she wore was stained with different fluids and her hair worn up in a messy bun. Sethlzaar turned his attention elsewhere, watching the other people who were not yet aware of their presence. Some of the tables had boys and girls involved in carnal acts in their drunkenness, although, not all of them involved were too drunk to control themselves.

One of the tables was inhabited by a group of people who were not there for the drinks. They were engaged in a game of war, a board game where each player anticipates the other's moves in order to win. Sethlzaar always found it ironic that for a realm that hated the touched so much they liked playing a game with a touched as one of its pieces. An important piece to say the least.

It took the briefest of moments and then Tamael spoke. In it there was a mild alarm tinged with curiosity.

"Where is Soartin?"