Shade wore nothing but a thin loincloth over his groin just like the other first year recruits and yet he felt no shame. Veteran trainees stood in the audience heckling and poking fun at the fresh bloods, but no one dared mock Shade. He was a natural. He danced around the pit floor with a lethal elegance, performing the exercises to such jaw-dropping perfection that his partner scrambled to keep up. He put even the other so-called shining potentials to shame.
Shade saw other members of his class stumbling out of the corner of his eye. One by one they cried out and crashed to the floor, clutching their bloody feet. He heard the trainers crack their whips. His classmates cried out in anguish. The whips cut deeply into their backs and they had to scramble back to their feet, lest they face the wrath of additional lashes.
He watched as another bumbling bastard son of Duke Qitaar stepped on a hot coal. The bastard screamed out as the coal seared into his flesh. Shade gracefully spun around another clumsy rich boy who sat bitterly yanking pieces of glass and barbs out of his foot. The trainers had scattered the floor with shards of obsidian glass, barbs and even hot coals.
An Unseen’s movements must betray no mistake. They must move in complete silence. ‘I must be aware of every step,’ he thought, repeating his master’s words, ‘snap not even a twig, brush not even a leaf…that is the bar I strive for.’
Shade glared hotly at the other highbred pit trash. He began to see them through his master’s cold dark eyes…their every mistake; their every inexcusable weakness enraged him. What pampered, simpering weaklings! You are supposed to be the pride of Jui-Sae! He only wished his master, Lord Sadora, was present. The Shadowlord would weed out more of the fodder. He would take pleasure in executing these spoiled rich boys of no worth to the order! Shade’s eyes flooded with hatred. ‘You know nothing!’ he thought accusingly, ‘Nothing of the honors granted you by right of nobility!’ If only his master had not gone to convene in his study with his head servant who had just returned from a journey.
Shade brought his wooden training dagger up and clinked with his sparring partner. He spun around. They touched parrying daggers as well. It was on the second spin that he caught a look from another recruit Savanesse. Shade had trained himself to need no one, not since his mother died all those years ago. He did not burden himself with relationships, but part of him had to admit he liked the daring young nobleman. Savanesse was the closest thing Shade ever had to a friend.
Savanesse’s long wavy indigo hair fell across his heavily pierced face. He brushed the hair out of his eyes. The balled earring he wore on his left ear jiggled in mid exercise. Savanesse was the rightful heir of the monstrous Shaltanoan Estate, but he shirked his life of privilege. He had a propensity for foreign jewelry and wild living, much to his parent’s chagrin. The house of Shaltanoa was so rich that it boasted it owned half of Jui-Sae. Savanesse could have easily avoided the war and lived a life of fat privilege, but he lived best among the dregs. He was more at home in taverns and brothels than in any of his family’s sprawling estates.
Savanesse’s emerald green eyes twinkled back at him. Shade noted a distinct twinkle of concern in his friend’s gaze. Savanesse made no noise, but Shade read the words off his lips. He could see the words as clear as day, ‘He knows!’
Shade felt as if his friend had just stabbed him through the heart. He found it difficult to move. He kept in step, but his heartbeat pounded in his ears. He nearly lost control. He glanced at the wide open gate, the only tunnel that led out to the surface above. His every instinct screamed at him to run. His eyes swept around the pit. Of course, he should have known! His rival, Jeshrim, was missing. The jealous pig noble had been using the considerable resources of his highbred upbringing to dig into Shade’s past. Shade would no longer be welcome here. The penalty was death and yet he lingered still.
The recruit kept in rhythm carrying out the motions that his very blood had been poured for until now. ‘Run, Shade,’ his every instinct screamed at him, ‘run!’ He had no place here anymore, but where would he go? What did he have to go back to? Back to Nefar to wallow in the mud? He clashed blades with his training partner. He spun backward demonstrating the pinnacle of lethal grace and perfect form. He caught another alarmed glance from Savanesse urging him again to flee.
Shade shook his head and smiled back at his friend. If he would die, he would die here and proud among his shadow brethren. He would not belittle himself to running and force his master to chase him down like a dog. His blood chilled over. His Elvish ears picked up the approaching sound of hard leather boot heels walking purposefully across stone. His master must have descended the spiral staircase and was making his way down the entry hall to the training pit. It was too late now. There was no escape. There was no mistaking the angry footsteps of the dauntless Shadowlord, but his master’s steps rung uncharacteristically loud. ‘He must be really angry,’ he thought, ‘for the Lord of the Shadows betrays no sound.’
Shade never broke out of exercise, even as other recruits paused to cast curious glances over their shoulders at the entryway. They quickly fell back into step. The wounded scrambled back to their feet, grunting through the pain.
Lord Sadora emerged from the shadows. He appeared to almost glide across the floor like a wraith, a tall eerie silhouette lost in the gloom. He seemed to carry the shadows with him. His chilling violet eyes burned from underneath the cowl of his black hood. Shade would never forget those cutting knife-like eyes. They were so sharp they pierced the memory, seering so hot and deep they would be forever burned into his darkest nightmares. He gulped.
The collective breath left the training pit. The recruits’ tense faces sweated harder, gritting their teeth, as they struggled to keep pace. The trainers intensified their lashes, pounding out a renewed rhythm of punishment.
Sadora’s cold steel voice cut through the shadows, “Halt!”
Every Unseen froze and stood at attention. All noise instantly vacated the room. Shade saw several recruits trying madly to control their edgy trembling, to emit not even the slightest creak of worn leather. The room went so silent that Shade could hear the steady dripping of sweat as it hit the floor. He thought he smelled urine on one recruit. He knew they were all praying…praying that their master did not find in them any shred of displeasure.
Lord Sadora’s eyes swept the room, causing every heart to shudder, until they finally settled on the most unlikely recruit of all. The Shadowlord frowned fiercely. He stalked directly towards Shade.
Shade did not move. Those burning violet eyes bore into the secret corners of his shivering soul. He could feel their penetrating power as they pierced his spirit. Time slowed down to a crawl. He heard the click of his master’s heel on every stone. His knees had the overwhelming urge to buckle, but he restrained himself fast. The tall hooded form stopped in front of him. Shade gulped. It might as well have been the Grim Reaper himself, for this dark entity also collected souls.
Sadora pulled back his hood and looked Shade full in the face. The Shadow-lord’s glowing violet eyes highlighted the hard cut yet soft angles in his strikingly handsome features. He had a dark devilish appeal to him, but his admirers had a nasty habit of disappearing. His long slick black hair had been drawn back into a ponytail. He wore hard leathers accented by a lordly violet cape. His breastplate bore the image of a single eye set into the palm of an open hand—the emblem of the Shadowhand Division. The Shadowlord’s lips curled into an unflattering frown as he looked Shade up and down.