Ashok looked up at Vedoran. Color suffused the shadar-kai’s powder gray skin. His black eyes glimmered like wet onyx.
“Well done,” Ashok said.
Vedoran nodded. “You as well,” he replied. He looked past Ashok, down to the second bridge. “Are you ready for me to let go?”
Ashok glanced down at the thin strip of bridge below him, invisible but for the cloaker corpse marking how far the drop truly was. The curved stone tusks were everywhere, waiting to impale him if he fell too far to either side of the bridge. Excitement bloomed anew, working right off the fire from the battle.
“I’m ready,” he said.
Ashok dangled from a thread, a thought between life and death, yet he’d never felt more connected to the world. He was aware of everything: the wind pulling him back and forth, the city breathing around him. All of it yanked into focus as if outlined in crystal. He felt everything, yet there was no pain. Even the roaring fire in his shoulder seemed dim compared to what he experienced in that breath.
Vedoran let go. The air left Ashok’s lungs, and for the shortest space, he hung in midair. The chain sang, metal against metal. Ashok fell, his eyes closed, trusting the slender thread to hold him.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Training for Ashok, Vedoran, and the other recruits, began shortly after the first bell of the day-the Monril bell, Ashok learned. He remembered Cree had said Ikemmu marked six intervals of the day with the bells. He learned them quickly: Monril, Diteen, Trimmer, Tet, Pendron, and Exeden. Sleep, for the shadar-kai, was accomplished in six groups in the time between bells. When Ashok rolled off his cot he felt awake and on edge-he’d rested enough to stay alert, but his muscles had had no chance to become lethargic.
Morningfeast was served in an open, communal hall at the mid-level of the barracks by a team of young humans. Sweat glistened off their pale skin as they ladled a sweet stew into bowls for the lines of shadar-kai that came through the hall. Ashok was still fascinated by the skin of the other races-light or dark, they virtually glowed.
“Ready for some play?” Cree asked Ashok as he was leaving the hall. Cree and Chanoch were practically vibrating as they exited the tower with a cluster of other shadar-kai men and women, all in a similar state of agitation.
They walked out into the training yard and immediately formed up into lines as they had the previous day. Ashok took up a position in the back row next to Skagi and Cree. Vedoran stood two rows ahead of them.
A shadar-kai Ashok didn’t recognize stood in the shadow of the tower next to a weapon rack of spears. When the recruits stood in their lines, he stepped forward. A pair of tattoos in the shape of serpents traced the muscles up each of his long arms.
“I am Jamet,” the shadar-kai said, addressing them. His voice was a soft rasp, as if his throat had been ravaged by thirst. “I am your teacher. I have not the tongue for speeches as the Watching Blade does, but mark me welclass="underline" what I lack in voice I more than make up for with these.” He took a spear from the rack and held it crosswise above his head. “The spear, the sword, the club,” he continued. “They will be your arms, your nerves-every part of you will defer to their guidance in battle, save one.” He tapped his temple. “Fight with your head,” he said. His hand slid down to cover his chest, his heart. “This belongs to Tempus. He will take care of the rest.”
Jamet walked up and down the lines of men and women, pausing every so often to scrutinize the recruits. On his last pass, he stopped in front of Ashok. He picked up a bit of Ashok’s chain dangling from his belt. Ashok followed his movements but made no reaction.
“Those of you who come to us bearing your own weapons”-Jamet pitched his voice to carry to the rest of the recruits-“prepare to unlearn everything you’ve learned up to this point. I’m going to show you new ways of fighting.” He held a length of chain up in front of Ashok. “These links are loose, rusted,” he said. “They need to be repaired.”
Ashok didn’t disagree. “I have no talent for the forge,” he replied.
“That too you will learn,” Jamet said. He added, “But you would do better to choose a different weapon.”
“Why?” Ashok asked suspiciously.
“This weapon,” Jamet said, feeding the links through his hands, “doesn’t distinguish friend from foe. It will sting your allies in battle.”
“And my enemies,” Ashok said.
Jamet grunted. “How will you avoid striking them in close quarters?” he said, nodding to Cree and Skagi.
“I’ve never had to consider allies in my fighting,” Ashok said.
“You’re a solitary?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“What do you say?” Jamet said, pressing Ashok, his tone mocking. “You don’t care whether you kill friend or foe in battle?”
Ashok realized, nearly too late, that he was being led. “I meant only that it’s impossible to distinguish friend from foe,” he said levelly.
“So it is,” Jamet said. He let the chain fall to Ashok’s side. “But that was your old life. This city is different.”
Jamet moved on, back to the front lines. “Remember Uwan’s words,” he said. “Your first duty is to Ikemmu, and your second”-he glanced pointedly at Ashok-“is to your allies who help defend it. Fail them, and you fail this city. There is no higher crime.”
He replaced the spear in the weapons rack. “I’m done with speeches,” he said. “Training begins now.”
At that instant, the Diteen bell tolled. Jamet divided the shadar-kai into teams of sparring partners. Ashok found himself grouped with Skagi, Cree, Chanoch, and Vedoran. Jamet instructed them to choose the weapon they knew from the myriad weapon racks, or to choose the weapon they most wanted to learn. Ashok kept his chain. He noticed Cree and Skagi held onto their own weapons, as did Vedoran.
Chanoch selected a greatsword from the rack. It wasn’t as finely honed or as impressive as Uwan’s weapon, Ashok thought, but to see Chanoch’s face he knew that hardly mattered. Uwan had taken him over completely. He would wield the sword of his leader.
“Spar with me?” he asked Ashok, all eagerness and energy.
“Careful, Chanoch,” Vedoran said, throwing Ashok a knowing smile. “This one isn’t a newborn.”
The training yard had been roped off into squares. Ashok tested his footing, but the surface was good. He wouldn’t slip.
Chanoch stood before him, his sword held two-handed. Ashok unhooked his chain and let one end fall to the ground.
“Aren’t you afraid I’ll cut it in half?” Chanoch asked, a half-smile twisting his features.
“No,” Ashok said. He snapped his arm out from his side. The chain whipped up like an awakened snake. It clipped Chanoch on the jaw before Ashok jerked it back.
Instinctively, Chanoch fell into a crouch, his lips pulled back in a snarl. He tensed for a charge, but Ashok read the move as if Chanoch had spoken his intentions aloud. He snapped the chain again, and that time Chanoch felt the bite at his sword hand. He flinched but to his credit did not drop his weapon.
“Come ahead,” Ashok said, unable to stop the taunt from rising to his lips as his blood pumped. He knew it wasn’t fair. Chanoch was too young. Too easy.
Chanoch charged across the yard, the greatsword thrust viciously before him.
It was a good move, Ashok acknowledged. But Chanoch was not as fast as Cree, not fast enough to take him by surprise. And the greatsword hadn’t the reach to make up for Chanoch’s lack of speed.
Ashok spun out of the way, using the force of the maneuver to bring the chain around swinging. It cut the air with a whistle, nearly taking off Chanoch’s head. The young one ducked to avoid the blow, which drove him almost to his knees.
Ashok brought his boot down, stamping on Chanoch’s blade and forcing it into the ground. Ashok not only had the superior height, but with his weight bearing down on the sword, Chanoch couldn’t get any leverage to free his weapon.