The day is late and the air carries the flavour of fall harvests and ripe berries. The sun is colder now and the sky is a translucent blue that seems to hint of mysteries to come. Richter says that harvest season is his favorite time. The air is cool and training doesn't wear so heavy. Indeed I see that he has joined Marie in her sessions with Usamy. It looks strange to see that supple blade in hands used to the long sword. He has taken to it quickly though and now it fairly dances in his grip.
I remember him saying that the secret of Usamy's style lay in her footwork and it is there where Marie will exceed him. Her lithe young body is a perfect match for the blade that Usamy has given her and her feet dance to the song of the sword. As I sit here at the fore I can hear well her breathless laughter and Usamy's quiet instruction. And I think how strange this is, how very different from the regimen that Richter underwent.
I watch them and from time to time I see Richter lower his blade and pause as though he were soaking up the laughter and sun and lap of wave. Taking in these precious moments and twining them deep within his soul. Then he comes back to himself and shakes off those feelings as though they are too human for the stone killer that Father has made him.
I was eight when Richter announced his intent to follow the path of the Prince. It was one of those rare times when we were all of us sitting at the same table. I had been watching him closely for I saw him seldom and I had a great curiosity about him. Though we were both of us studying the Arts he was years ahead of me and I had seen him only once in the last two years.
I had noticed that he seemed edgy but I had assumed it was simply because Father was with us. The food had just been placed before us and the servants had left when Richter cleared his throat. " I was speaking with Abbot Sivard in Baustin the other day and he has an opening within the order next spring."
Clear cold silence. Father's fork was paused midway tween plate and lip as his head swivelled slowly to look at Richter.
Richter met his eyes without flinching and said,"I told him that I would take it."
The fork slid back to the plate. "No."
"This is not your choice Father."
I could see Geoffrey sliding away from the table, head swiveling for a bolt hole. Father's voice was barely more than a whisper and when he spoke the crystal goblets mirrored my shivers. "You are my son. You will follow my path as I followed the path of my father before me. This is the Law."
"No it is not. It's an old law, a dead law and it stopped having
meaning for you the day he ordered you to cast the spell."
My stomach dropped through the floor. The crystal began to hum.
"There are new laws now Father. You know that as well as I. When
you came here and took this name you knew that . When you took mother to
wife you knew that and when mother died despite your laws you knew that.
You are mortal now Father and there is no going back. I make my own choices
just as you must make yours and I choose to follow the Prince."
All across the table the crystal goblets exploded and plates burst into myriad shards. I felt the force of Father's Mindwhip as it flashed across the table and into Richter. Over the years I have learned to bend like the willow so that the mindwhip flows by me. It maybe that Richter has learned it as well but not on that day. That day he took it. Full on, teeth bared in a rictus of pain, he took it and stood. Blood slid like tears from the corners of his eyes and his voice was loud to carry through his shattered ears.
"I have made my decision Father."
Father, whitefaced with rage turned and walked away. Richter waited until he was out of site before collapsing and Geoffrey and I rushed to his side.
It was two weeks later when I next saw them together. I was sitting on a ledge below one of the citadels spires. Far below I saw movement in the square. I enchanted my sight and found that Father was talking quietly with Richter.
"You will go to the abbey. You will not go until I deem you ready.
I have spoken with Sivard and he has acquiesced. So today you begin your
training." He lifted his hand and four men walked into the courtyard.
"These are the best that money can buy. Each is a master in his own way.
You will learn from them." and he turned to the men. "This is my son. He
fancies himself a warrior. Break him." And he walked away.
I have delved into the darkest corners, drank with murderers and whores, and seen much that people hide in the depths of their souls. Never though have I seen a beating as thouroughly vicious and complete as that which they gave Richter that day. For weeks that turned into seasons Richter would train fourteen to eighteen hours a day. Stopping only when he collapsed from exhaustion or when their teaching had damaged him so badly that they called for a healer. At times they would take him in the middle of the night and run him. He would return days later and sleep like the dead until they woke him again.
It must have been a couple of years later that I found myself awake one night and sitting on that same ledge. Below I heard the sound of metal on metal and I stepped off the ledge and slid through the air to a better vantage point. Richter had returned from a run and the masters were instructing him. I noticed that Richter had no blood on him. Indeed unless my eyes told me lies I was sure that his masters could not say the same.
More time slid by and one day Father summoned me to the courtyard. Richter stood in a circle and scattered around him lay the masters. Blood was thick in the dust and flies scattered in waves as we moved about. Father looked at me and said, "Sketch a circle Tomas, we cast a summoning."
I did as he bade and soon had the circle layed and the wards set. Father gestured and the bodies of the masters floated into the center of the circle. "What do we do Father?" I asked.
"It seems that your brother has bettered his teachers." He looked
at Richter. "Well boy you must be good to have slain the best." Richter
wisely said naught.
Father began his incantations. "Well your brother may be good but he is no Horal yet. So we must provide a challenge." In the center of the circle I saw darkness coil about the bodies.
"Should we not bury the masters?" I inquired.
Father spared me a dismissive glance. "Why?" he asked. "They were not men. They were clay, animated by the spirits of beasts. Now they are simply clay and I am a sculptor, molding them for my purpose.
I was silent then as Father finished his summonings and I watched as he bound that which answered into the bodies of the Masters. My eyes saw the eldritch force that flowed as blood within their veins and my ears heard my Father's voice.
"These are heroes from the time of darkness. Each of them stood
against the tide of chaos and fought twenty lifetimes worth of war. They
will teach you all that they know and if you survive to kill them then you
may take your vows."
Then he turned to the masters who stood with eyes as black as Father's heart. "This is my son. He has cast off the arts and taken the sword. He will learn or he will die."
It was four years later that Richter came and told me that he was leaving for the Abbey in the morning. I would not see him again for another eight years.
The sound of Marie's triumphant laughter pulls me from my reverie and I see that Richter has allowed her to score on him. Her face is alight with joy and Richter is smiling gentley in return. His low voice suggests a change in her posture and Marie looks to Usamy who agrees and steps in to demonstrate.
Marie laughs and says that it comes easily to Richter because he is a natural.
I laugh too and I see them glance at me. The only thing that Father could not break was Richter's heart, his spirit. It is the only truly natural thing that he possesses and though the masters, the demons, and Father were unable to break it, they did temper it to Adamant strength.
more later
Bill Thompson
"Ask me a riddle and I reply:
"Cottleston, Cottleston, Cottleston Pie.""
ICQ #15348914
End of The Glorantha Digest V6 #147
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