Blood of the Watcher (The Dark Ability Book 4) Page 2

  Haern rolled, sending another knife at Rsiran and then leaping toward him.

  Rsiran Slid to emerge behind him. If Haern wanted to play at an attack, then he suspected he would have to oblige him. He pulled a pair of knives from the table and sent them spinning toward Haern, blunt end forward. Rsiran didn’t want to hurt Haern, but he wanted to prove that he was capable enough.

  A short sword appeared in Haern’s hand, and he swatted the knives from the air. Rsiran had never seen Haern with a sword, and was surprised to note the bright gleam to the steel. It was finely made, but not one of his.

  “That might work, but you forget that I can See.” He jumped toward Rsiran, the tip of his sword stabbing toward him.

  Rsiran Slid two steps to the side. “I thought you couldn’t See anything involving me.”

  Haern spun and darted toward him again. A tight smile spread across his face. Haern didn’t seem winded, and actually seemed to be enjoying himself. “Can’t See you, but when you send knives at me…”

  Rsiran had another pair of knives ready and sent them flying toward Haern. The man spun, his steps quick, and slashed the knives out of the air, before spinning back toward Rsiran, and jumping with more agility than Rsiran would have expected. He landed in front of Rsiran, his sword nearly stabbing into his chest.

  “You see, you hesitate,” Haern said, jabbing at him with the tip of the sword. “What would have happened had I wanted to hurt you?”

  Rsiran Slid a step back, but Haern had been ready. When he emerged, Haern’s sword remained stabbed toward his chest. “I think that I could get away.”

  He eyed the sharp edge of the sword and noted how close it was to him. In spite of his ability to Slide, it was still dangerously close. He thought of when he’d been attacked by the Forgotten Sliders after they’d poisoned him. He hadn’t been able to do much more than escape then. What would have happened to him—to Jessa—had they been even slightly more capable?

  “There are times when your abilities fail,” Haern said. “Times when you either can’t—or don’t want to—run. You need to know how to use your combination of abilities, because I assure you, there are others out there who have honed their gifts and will not hesitate to do what they need to do in order to survive.”

  Rsiran met Haern’s eyes. “I’ve done what was needed to survive.”

  Haern laughed darkly and slipped his sword into an unseen sheath. “You mean those men you fought in Asador? Or Thom when he Compelled me?” Haern grunted. “Jessa thinks you’d do what is needed, but she also thinks you fear it’ll turn you into something else.” Rsiran hadn’t known that Jessa had discovered his concern. But then, she knew him better than anyone. “Trust me when I tell you that I’ve lived with darkness, Rsiran. There are things that can break a man, but you have to be willing to be broken. From what I’ve seen, you keep yourself too grounded for that to happen.”

  “I don’t think I’m grounded.”

  Haern swept his hand around him. “No? You don’t think this place gives you some purpose? It might not be what you expected, but I’ve seen the way you look when you talk about your work. And Jessa. Even if you never stood in front of your forge again, I think that girl would be enough to keep you straight.”

  Rsiran turned away from Haern and stepped in front of the anvil. He lifted one of his hammers and slung it over his shoulder. There was a reassuring heft to the hammer, a familiarity that had come from all the years he’d spent pounding with it. “That’s the problem, isn’t it? I’d do anything to keep her safe.”

  “And you fear what that means,” Haern said. “You think that just because you killed Shael, and were willing to kill others, that you might have to do it again. And I can’t say you won’t, not with what we’re dealing with.”

  Rsiran swallowed. It was as if Haern Read him, but that wouldn’t be possible, not from Haern. “I fear what I’ve become. And I fear what I’ll be forced to become.”

  “As you should,” Haern said softly. Rsiran turned to him and Haern shrugged. “You know where I studied. There’s a darkness to what I did, and what I had to do, but even as I learned, I never questioned whether what I was doing was right. I never wondered whether what I learned was right, only that it was necessary. You’re different. If you weren’t, I wouldn’t let Jessa stay with you.” Haern slipped his sword into his sheath. “Did you feel a thrill when you killed Shael?”

  Rsiran thought about the way the knife had torn through him. There had been no choice. Had he not, Jessa and he would have remained trapped. He remembered the sadness, and the fear, but there had been no thrill. “What do you mean by a thrill?”

  “Some feel it when they kill. Not you?”

  Rsiran shook his head.

  “Good. Even if you did, doesn’t mean you’re some sort of killer. Oh, maybe it means that you could be, but I think there’s a darkness within each of us, and we have to know when and how to control it. When you’re threatened, that darkness comes forward. It’s a natural survival instinct and you sometimes lose a little control. If it didn’t manifest, either you’d be dead, or someone you cared about would be dead. For Jessa’s sake, I think you need to have that part of you. But like I said, you need to control it.”

  Rsiran set the hammer back down on the anvil, wondering whether Haern was telling him what he thought he wanted to hear or whether it was the truth. “I don’t know that I can keep her safe, Haern,” he said softly. “With what I know is out there—the Forgotten and Venass…”

  “And the alchemists,” Haern reminded.

  “And the alchemists,” Rsiran agreed. He hadn’t forgotten about them, but the alchemists seemed less of a threat than the Forgotten and the scholars of Venass, especially since he hadn’t heard anything from them in the months since he had infiltrated the guild house. “All of that makes me a target, doesn’t it? As long as Jessa stays with me, then she’s a target too. I can’t be the reason that something happens to her.”

  Haern returned to the table at the back of the room and picked up one of Rsiran’s knives. He spun it in his hand, moving with a casual grace that did nothing to mask how deadly he would be with the knife. “That’s why I came to you today. You’ve got it right. You have a target on you. With what happened with Josun and what you’ve been forced to do, there’s no one else who’s in quite as much danger as you. I think it’s about time we do something to make sure you get the training you need to ensure that if someone comes after you again, you won’t be the reason others get hurt. It’s time we make sure that, if anything, you’re the reason we remain safe.”

  “I don’t know…”

  “What’s your hesitation? Do you think that if you don’t learn to control your abilities, you won’t have to use them?”

  “I know how to control them,” Rsiran said.

  “Right. You can travel from one place to the next, and you can push your knives at me. But is that control, or is that the most basic level of what’s possible? Seems to me that there are layers of ability. I’m guessing you haven’t done much more than scratch at the surface of yours.”

  Rsiran considered what Haern suggested. He had seen how deadly Haern could be. And the man moved with such a confident grace, how could learning such skills not be helpful? But, if he did, what other skills would he commit himself to learning? What would Haern force him to do in order to master his abilities?

  “And if I do this?” Rsiran asked.

  Haern frowned. “What’re you getting at?”

  Rsiran shook his head. “What’s the price?”

  Haern flipped one of the knives and spun it so quickly that it seemed to practically hum in the air. With a quick flick of his wrist, he sent the knife spiraling toward the opposite end of the smithy where it sank into the wall. “There’s always a price, Rsiran. You don’t think it’s worth it to make certain you’re not the reason we get hurt? That you’re not the reason she gets hurt?”

  Rsiran considered the many things that had happened of late as
he watched Haern. He could learn much from this man, especially if he had studied in Venass and knew some of their secrets. Rsiran didn’t know what else the scholars might want from him, but it clearly had something to do with his ability to Slide past the alloy. It was the same knowledge that the Forgotten wanted from him.

  The scholars had claimed that a time would come when they would call Rsiran to them, when they would demand that he fulfill his promise to return so they could study him. Thom had already called him once before attacking them, but Rsiran had refused. What that meant for him remained to be seen, but he didn’t think he would escape unharmed. And his friends would likely suffer from it as well.

  But he owed the scholars of Venass a debt. That had been the deal when he’d gone for the antidote, one that, in the end, he had not truly needed for Brusus… but had needed for himself. If nothing else, Venass had saved him. But he found it difficult to imagine that had been the intent when they had given him the antidote. Given that Thom was likely behind the poison attack on Brusus in the first place, it was almost certain that Venass had only intended the antidote be given to him. And, as far as Venass knew, Brusus was dead.

  He sighed, and frowned as Haern smiled at him. What price would he exact to help teach him what he needed to keep himself—and Jessa—safe?

  Was there any price that was too high?

  Chapter 3

  The edge of the Aisl Forest carried none of the heavy fragrance of the sjihn trees that it did deeper in the woods. The trees along the edge were enormous and towered over the edge of the city as if ancient guardians observing the city itself. Only Krali Rock reached above the height of the trees from here; otherwise, the city sloped down toward the bay and the steady waves crashing along the shoreline.

  Pale sunlight streamed through the upper branches, bouncing off the thick leaves, casting a wavering shadow that danced across the forest floor. Other than his own footsteps, Rsiran heard nothing else moving. Thankfully, the strange howls he had often heard when deep in the forest were silent on this occasion.

  He waited for Haern, his heart racing, knowing that at any moment, the man might appear, and attack. Training, he called it, but Rsiran felt that, so far, it had been little more than testing of his ability, almost as if Haern wanted to take stock of what he could do. If he didn’t know how implicitly Brusus trusted Haern—as did Jessa—he might have questioned what he’d been asked to do. As it was, he went along with Haern’s requests but wondered how long he should.

  They had spent an evening in the smithy, much like when Haern had first appeared. Somehow, Rsiran still didn’t manage to get the best of Haern, in spite of his increasing attempts to at least catch him once with the edge of one of his knives. None had connected. Haern rolled each time, either the knife missing or with him managing to bat it out of the air, his ability to See giving him awareness of where Rsiran’s attack would likely come from.

  It had grown frustrating.

  When Haern suggested they meet at the edge of the Aisl, Rsiran figured he might have some advantage. He had spent his boyhood in the forest and could Slide and appear anywhere while Haern would have to move in the open, but then, Rsiran wondered if he really had any advantage when it came to Haern.

  There was one thing that Haern had told him that was true: he needed to master his abilities or he would end up failing Jessa, and he might end up used by those who were after him. For her, he would do what he needed to keep them safe. Even if it meant embracing the darkness of his abilities.

  Rsiran Slid from tree to tree, not willing to stand in a single place for too long. He emerged long enough to glance around, knowing that Haern would be there soon, and not wanting to be caught unprepared again.

  After a while, when Haern failed to appear, he began working his way deeper into the forest. At one point, he paused near the plain wooden hut where his father had been housed after Rsiran had brought him back from Asador. He still didn’t know why the Forgotten wanted his father, and what they might have been after before Rsiran had brought him back to Elaeavn. Without returning to Asador, he might not learn the answer, though from what he’d discovered, the Forgotten had been targeting smiths. But why? And why had Josun been sending lorcith to Asador?

  Questions without answers, much like why the lorcith supply in Elaeavn had dried up. There hadn’t ever been that much lorcith in Ilphaesn, at least as far as the Elvraeth and the Miners Guild knew. Only Rsiran knew the secret of how much lorcith remained hidden in the mountain.

  Grass around the hut had grown long. When he had come the last time, it had been trampled down by dozens of different feet, leaving a path that led up to the entrance of the hut. Rsiran didn’t need the path, nor did he need to worry about the lock on the door.

  Since Haern hadn’t appeared, Rsiran Slid inside.

  A place like this would have been too dark for him even a month ago, but since holding the crystal, his vision had changed, though he still didn’t understand exactly how. Della claimed she had changed after holding the crystal, and she expected that he would as well, though she didn’t know how that change would manifest.

  Now, he was able to make out the simple sleep pallet along one wall in this barren space his father had briefly called home. The pair of chairs angled near the hearth, almost as if to leave an opportunity for conversation. The stale scent of burned logs, the residue of the char still hanging in the air, lingered. There was an old odor of sweat, and the stink of the man who had lived here for… What had it been? Weeks? A month? All that time, and Rsiran had only come to him once before needing him to find Thyr.

  Rsiran should have taken the opportunity to ask questions, but instead, he had held onto his anger, never able to move past it. How much could he have learned had he only been willing to ask?

  His father knew more about what it meant to be a smith than Rsiran had been able to discover on his own. It was more than what the man could teach him about working the forge. It was the teachings of a master smith, those invaluable lessons and insights that come from years of honing one’s craft. Skills that Rsiran still hadn’t mastered despite all the lessons the lorcith had provided. There were techniques that he might begin to discover if he took the time, but would never truly master, not like his father, and not without having a true master to work under.

  Rsiran sighed and turned away from the hearth thinking of the journey he’d forced his father to take to Venass, during which he’d learned that his father had spent time in Thyr. He should have asked more questions during that journey, when he had his father in somewhat captured company, but he had not. What else had he missed out on the opportunity to learn? He had never known that his father had spent any time outside of the city, and now might never know why, or the reason he had returned.

  Everything about the hut came as gradations of shadow, but as he glanced over near the pallet, a shimmer of color seemed to catch his eye.

  Rsiran leaned over the pallet searching for any sense of lorcith, and found none. What had he seen then?

  The pallet was little more than straw stuffing, with blankets lying over the top. At first, Rsiran wondered if he had seen nothing more than colors from one of the blankets, regardless of how valuable such linens might be. With what they’d discovered in the warehouse along the docks of Lower Town, there were things that Brusus had taken and used that were incredibly valuable, so Rsiran wouldn’t have been entirely surprised to learn that he had taken something like that and left it here for his father.

  But that wasn’t what he had seen.

  Along the wall, there was a long mark, as if carved. Rsiran leaned toward this mark and realized that it had been gouged into the wood. He reached toward it, running his fingers along the rough edge of the crack, suspecting that his father must have made it.

  It was deeper than he would have expected, and any more light would likely have faded into the shadows, but in the darkness he could see the crack.

  Not only the crack, but the way something had been
stuffed into the crack.

  Rsiran used one of his knives to pry at the wall. Lorcith was hard metal, particularly when forged by someone like himself who understood the way the metal called to him, but it could be brittle as well. He dug at the crack, wiggling the tip of his knife from side to side until the crack in the wood began to widen.

  The wood separated enough for him to feel a long sliver of metal.

  Not lorcith, or it would have tugged on his senses. And not heartstone, though he wouldn’t have expected his father to have anything of heartstone here. This appeared to be a mixture of metals, but one of iron and grindl, a rare enough metal that could be formed into fairly beautiful patterns if made by the right smith. The mixture of iron and grindl was not one of the alchemists’ sanctioned alloys, though nor was it forbidden, not like using lorcith in the way that Rsiran did. Streaks of green melded into the black of the iron, giving it the shimmering color that he had seen, but how had he managed to see it from the other side of the room?

  Rsiran studied the piece of metal. It was a flat sheet, seemingly plain, but as he tipped it from side to side, he realized that there was a pattern to the streaks of grindl that ran through the iron, almost as if intentional. Why would his father have hidden this?

  Or had he?

  Thom had been here, and had known about Rsiran’s ability. It was possible that Thom had left it, hoping that Rsiran or one of them would find it. For all he knew, he had been Compelled to find it, some strange plan of Thom’s.

  But why these metals?

  Grindl might be rare, but it wasn’t particularly expensive, not like lorcith. And iron was common. No, this wouldn’t have been Thom. This seemed more likely to have come from his father.

  Then what was it? Why would his father have placed something here? Unless he had known that he would be dragged away.

  Rsiran didn’t think that likely. If his father thought that he might be dragged away, and that something else was going to happen to him, he wouldn’t have stored something here. He would have kept it on him.