“Mille would not want you to die,” Lane said fiercely to Gwaynn’s back. Gwaynn stopped, but did not turn. Lane could hear him breathing rapidly, but slowly the boy relaxed bit by bit.
“Come,” Lane added. “I will take you to the Mele camp.”
Gwaynn nodded and the two of them set off. Gwaynn was surprised that they followed along in the path of King Arsinol. Anger threatened to engulf him several times as the pair ahead of them occasionally passed into view among the bustle of people and tents. The temporary city was now awake and there was a definite air of excitement as the day’s events drew closer.
The tents eventually grew sparse until Lane led them to a boundary of sorts. There was a large open area, beyond which, were the colorful tents of the various quarters. The tents of the competing students were separated neatly from each other as well as the general population. The two followed the beaten path, which led over to the segregated camps of the students. The way was loosely guarded by a pair of Tars, already up and alert, though it was highly unusually for anyone to encroach on the privacy of those set to compete.
King Arsinol and Navarra had just passed the sentries and were moving farther into the camp when Lane and Gwaynn began to cross the field. They did not speak, though both were sharing very similar destructive thoughts, and they both moved almost hypnotically after the man that had altered each of their lives so catastrophically.
They were stopped by the pair of the Tar sentries. Gwaynn did not know either, though he dimly recognized one. Lane, however, knew them both.
“Tar Awl…Tarina Grace,” he said by way of greeting, giving each a curt nod as he spoke.
“Lane Noble…Master Gwaynn,” answered the Tarina. She was an older, handsome woman of perhaps forty, lean and wiry as female Tars tended to be. She had long jet-black hair and intense eyes which seemed to see directly into Gwaynn and read all of his intentions clearly. She reminded him a bit of Tar Amon. “Your business please. Lane, you know the students should not be distracted before the coming events.”
Lane nodded. “We will be brief. Gwaynn would like to wish the students of Mele quarter luck. He’s been running with them in the mornings.”
Her face remained passive as she passed her eyes over Gwaynn, but she finally agreed. “Very well, but do not tarry. King Arsinol also requested to visit that quarter, and together you are likely to cause…” The rest of her words were lost to Gwaynn as his face flushed and his ears were filled with a silent roaring. He began to move mechanically into the camp, ignoring Lane as he took his leave from the Tars. Gwaynn moved quickly and surely, and as if by instinct his steps were true. He rounded a tent and there not twenty paces away stood the King of the Deutzani and a pair of students from the Mele quarter. He did not feel it as Lane caught up and placed a hand on his shoulder. Gwaynn just stared, pain filling his chest, as his enemy King gave words of encouragement to B’dall and Vio.
“We have students from all the Families,” Lane said, but Gwaynn made no sign he’d heard. He was about to depart, his desire to see anyone now completely driven from him, when Vio turned away and began to leave the group. Gwaynn paused as Arsinol reached out and took hold of her arm. She turned back and for some unknown reason looked past her King and caught sight of Gwaynn, watching. Their eyes locked, neither able to look away, until Gwaynn finally turned, bumped into Lane and fled. He did not see the anguish on Vio’s face as she jerked her arm from Arsinol’s grip and fled herself.
ǂ
Gwaynn ran into Nev just outside the student area.
“I thought I might find you here,” his Master said simply, nodding to Lane who was following behind. “Come, the archery contest starts this morning. The kata competition doesn’t start until later. Nev then looked over at Lane, who was eyeing him with barely concealed awe. “You may join us if you like.”
“Thank you, no.” Lane stammered, truly honored. “I must go and join my family. Perhaps we will see you there,” he added, as much to Gwaynn as the infamous Tar.
Gwaynn nodded and followed where his teacher led.
“T…the Executioner Navarra is here,” he said quietly as they walked, his mind still numb from the fact that Vio was Deutzani. He was not sure how much more he could take. Everyone he cared about either died or turned out to be his enemy.
“Yes, I saw him,” Nev answered, his voice even. “He was with the Deutzani King.”
“I am going to kill him,” Gwaynn said just as evenly.
Nev chuckled. “Yes, I’m sure you are.”
“What’s funny?” Gwaynn turned suddenly angry.
Nev stopped also. “How could I not find it all so humorous?” He waved his hands to the sky in an all-encompassing way. “Life would be monstrous if it were not so.”
Gwaynn scowled, tired of the man’s philosophy, so many words that did so little.
“Words,” he answered.
“Yes,” Nev nodded gravely. “And what are words, ideas, thoughts. Do they, can they, make a difference in what is real? Perhaps not. Perhaps they are just pretties, bandied about to relieve the suffering of the weak. Perhaps our words are just as powerless as any bark, chirp, or bray from an animal. Just so much noise, then again perhaps not. Perhaps that is all Man is. Perhaps Man, though he appears to be flesh and bone, is truly only words and thoughts. So when you say “I will kill him.” I laugh, because of the words and the thoughts and the result that will inevitably follow. I know you will kill him. You know you will kill him, but our poor Executioner does not. Only he remains ignorant of both word and action.”
Gwaynn shook his head. Not sure if he would ever entirely understand the man before him.
“Riddles,” he grunted.
Nev smiled. “Yes, a riddle,” he answered and they moved off to the archery fields.
The competition with bows was hampered a bit by the light drizzle that fell all morning, but the crowds were large, though not as large as they would be at some of the more popular events. Plus the initial rounds were between those of the younger and less skilled students. The upper classmen would not begin to compete until the following morning against the victors of today. Vio, an underclassman, was of course competing. Gwaynn resolved not to watch her, but his eyes kept coming back to her no matter how hard he tried to keep them away. She was not faring well, though the bow was never her strongest skill. She was clearly out of sorts, missing shots that were only moderately difficult even for her, and in the end she lost to a second year in her second round.
Gwaynn was surprised to find that he felt badly for her, though why he should feel so was a mystery to him. His thoughts, feelings, his whole being were in utter turmoil. He eyes were still on Vio as she unstrung her bow and stuffed it forcefully into her bag.
“Perhaps you should go to her,” Nev commented, attentive to his pupil as always.
“She’s Deutzani,” Gwaynn stated as if this settled the matter.
Nev raised an eyebrow. “She also was Deutzani yesterday when you spoke of her so highly.”
Gwaynn shrugged, still watching the girl.
“Ah well, if she has changed so much from the person you knew…” Nev answered standing. “I believe I will take in some lunch before the staff competitions. Will you come?”
Gwaynn paused. Nev smiled inwardly.
“I will meet you at the tent,” Gwaynn said and moved down the rows of seats to the ground and headed off toward Vio, who was still packing her things away.
Nev watched him go, scratched his head and marveled at the foresight and wisdom of Tar Amon.
Gwaynn had no such thoughts as he approached Vio. She was facing away from him so was unaware of his approach. Gwaynn noticed that her long sleeved, white shirt was damp from the constant mist and was clinging to her, exposing the shape of her back and shoulders. She stood and turned as he drew near. Her eyes grew wide as she saw him. She paused a moment then turned back to her bag without saying anything.