The sun broke above the foggy horizon and streamed blindingly down the pass. It lit up the fog ahead with a blazing light, reflected off the ice-covered cliffs and snow and caused the walking figure to stumble to his knees, trying to shield his eyes with his bandaged right hand.
* * *
“The whole point of learning this is so that you won’t need to run.”
Argos let go of the boy’s wrist after retrieving the small orb from his hand. The boy took a few steps back resentfully, rubbing the place where Argos had held him.
“Do you know what this is?” Argos asked, holding up the orb to the light. The boy eyed him warily. “No, I don’t suppose you do. It’s just a pretty bauble to you.” Argos dropped it into his pocket, turned around and began walking up the staircase back to his office. The boy allowed him to get some distance, then followed. Argos talked without turning back.
“Theft has its uses, but you have to know what you’re taking. You’ll learn to take only what’s necessary; missing things attract attention.”
* * *
The man had managed to stand up again. His black cloak streamed out behind him, the wind funneled into the pass. When the corners whipped upwards, the white lining was exposed. The man leant forward into the wind and continued on. His lips and eyelids were shaded blue.
* * *
A sigh echoed around the darkened chamber.
“Do you know why you’re here?” The voice carried authority; the echoes punctuated the graveness of the situation.
The young man who stood non-chalantly and illuminated in the centre of the room made no effort to reply.
“This is a serious charge.” Still the young man remained silent. Some papers were leafed through.
“You have a history of disobedience and rebellion. You’re talented, but you waste much of it pursuing frivolity and mischief. Frankly, if it wasn’t for your teacher you wouldn’t be here, being given the chance to make your case. I suggest you do not squander it, fledgling. Were you of age, you would already be dead.”
The man stiffened up, his air of passive defiance crumbling, and looked at the floor.
“I’m sorry,” he said meekly. “I made a mistake.”
His words were met with silence; he began to plead his case.
* * *
He finally exited the pass. The wind was lessened here, but the fog was thicker. The sun had risen in the sky. It had stopped snowing; these were the low clouds. Zeke pulled his cloak around him. He didn’t have the strength to reverse it and bring the white to the outside.
* * *
The night air whipped his hair around his face as he ran. The night was warm and almost uncomfortably humid. He grinned under his cloak, leapt early and fell between the houses. As he passed the chantlate he reached out, held momentarily to bring himself flush with the wall then slid down. As soon as his feet touched ground he was running.
Instinctively, he knew she had made the jump and was running parallel along the roofs on the other side of the street. He skipped through shadows, altered his pace. A rock flew past his face and hit the wall, piercing the silence. He turned down an alley and leapt the low wall, landed poorly and tumbled, came up running.
He burst onto the street and ran for a nearby cart, leaping. He pushed off the wall, grabbed the ledge and used momentum to swing his legs up, then rolled over twice and to his feet. As he leapt the next gap between the buildings, he turned in mid-air and threw a rock at the shadow racing across the street. He landed backwards on his right foot, pivoted to his left and leapt again.
* * *
Half-frozen snow crunched underfoot. With a shock, he realised he was being followed. He didn’t know how long they had been there. His ears were cold and numb, despite his hood. He was exhausted, his reflexes dulled. His cloak was frayed and his right wrist ached.
* * *
“He fights poorly. His guard is flimsy; incomplete.”
“He’s still young. He’ll learn.”
“He’ll never learn. He has been fighting this way since his first lessons.”
Both figures took a moment of silence to watch the sparring figures in the courtyard below.
“Her form is perfect. She could finish it at any time.”
“She toys with him; enjoys the fight. I think she wants to court him.”
“That could be a problem,” he replies with a smile.
“It’s not funny, Argos. They’ve got real potential.”
“There’s nothing we can do. Forbidding it would just encourage them.”
The figures below twirled, clashed again, and the young woman’s weapon was thrown from her hands. She lost her balance and their legs tangled. The young man landed on top of her. They made no move to untangle themselves. Argos imagined how awkward the moment was for the ‘boy’ and he smiled. He placed a hand on the other man’s shoulder.
“Don’t worry, Draysen. We’ll keep an eye on them.”
* * *
The end of his sword wavered; the tip drooped towards the ground. His hands were shaking. His fingers were numb. The circle closed in – painted men and women, wielding spiked clubs and spears, wearing thick fur pelts. Long golden hair universally streamed in the wind.
These were the ones he was looking for. Zeke reversed the grip on the pommel, and with his last remaining strength drove it into the hard compacted snow before passing out.
