yard along with the other strikers who were
masters of various other weapons. Their swords and weapons would be
masterpieces, and it would be a terrible waste to leave them to the harsh
forces of nature.
Rezkin spent several moments collecting weapons and other
valuables from the dead men and stored them in the armory. None of the weapons
were as exquisite as his own, but he did select a few knives and a throwing ax
he particularly admired for himself. He secured the armory with the double
interlocking iron doors and multiple heavy Master-level locks. Since most of
the Lock Masters in the kingdom were dead in the yard, anyone else would
probably require a catapult to bust through the stone walls to get into the
facility. He doubted Farson would come back for anything.
Finally, around mid-morning Rezkin was on his way. Farson
had a two-hour head start, but Rezkin hoped he could catch up to him quickly
since Farson was on foot. Just as Rezkin suspected, Farson’s trail led him to
the river heading south toward the village of Perdony. After following Farson’s
tracks along the river for less than an hour, Rezkin spotted something unusual.
He dismounted to examine the perturbed mud. Farson’s tracks ambled all around
the site indicating he had stopped here. That was not what disturbed, Rezkin,
though. It was the drag marks leading into the water. Farson had boarded a
boat. It would have been a small boat, only big enough to fit three or four
people, but it was more than enough to get one man down the river quickly.
Rezkin was disheartened when he realized this was not going
to be a simple track and hunt. He had no doubt Farson would use the boat to get
as far away from Rezkin as he could as quickly as possible. Rezkin was going to
have to hunt him through the cities and across the kingdom. A tiny voice in the
back of his mind was begging for attention. It wondered why he had to hunt
Farson at all. Until today, everyone Rezkin had been ordered to kill had been
some kind of criminal, as far as he knew. Master Jaiardun did not always tell
him why he had to kill someone, but Master Peider did, and they were always terrible
people. Farson, though, had always struck Rezkin as an honorable and loyal man
who adhered to the Rules as much as possible. In fact, all of the
strikers could fit that description. Again, he felt a slight tightening in his
chest when he thought of the other strikers.
Rezkin shook his head. He could not afford to think like
this. His master’s last order was to kill the strikers, and that was what he
was supposed to do. Then why were the masters fighting each other? What if
Master Jaiardun’s order was wrong? Stop it, he told himself. He
could not afford to question the orders, now. Maybe when he caught up with
Farson he could at least ask the man what in bloody hell was going on before he
killed him.
For the next seven days, Rezkin followed the river to
Perdony without incident. During his training, he had spent quite a bit of time
in the wild learning survival skills and hunting and tracking. About a half day
from the village, he encountered the first signs of people in the outworld. A
small cottage was set upon a clear hill covered in thick grasses. Milling
across the hill were fluffy white sheep. A barking dog ran around the sheep
nipping at their heels. Rezkin had never seen such a dog before. He had learned
to use dogs for hunting, but this dog did not seem to be trying to kill the
sheep.
At mid-afternoon, Rezkin got his first look at an outworlder
village. It was much like what he imagined, only everything was more colorful.
The homes were decorated with flowers in planters, and a few stalls selling
produce and other general goods were covered with bright cloth to block out the
sun. None of the men appeared to be armed, as far as he could tell, with the
exception of a few belt knives. One man carried a hoe propped on his shoulder,
but it was rusted and bent. The scruffy man was heading toward the
masters of various other weapons. Their swords and weapons would be
masterpieces, and it would be a terrible waste to leave them to the harsh
forces of nature.
Rezkin spent several moments collecting weapons and other
valuables from the dead men and stored them in the armory. None of the weapons
were as exquisite as his own, but he did select a few knives and a throwing ax
he particularly admired for himself. He secured the armory with the double
interlocking iron doors and multiple heavy Master-level locks. Since most of
the Lock Masters in the kingdom were dead in the yard, anyone else would
probably require a catapult to bust through the stone walls to get into the
facility. He doubted Farson would come back for anything.
Finally, around mid-morning Rezkin was on his way. Farson
had a two-hour head start, but Rezkin hoped he could catch up to him quickly
since Farson was on foot. Just as Rezkin suspected, Farson’s trail led him to
the river heading south toward the village of Perdony. After following Farson’s
tracks along the river for less than an hour, Rezkin spotted something unusual.
He dismounted to examine the perturbed mud. Farson’s tracks ambled all around
the site indicating he had stopped here. That was not what disturbed, Rezkin,
though. It was the drag marks leading into the water. Farson had boarded a
boat. It would have been a small boat, only big enough to fit three or four
people, but it was more than enough to get one man down the river quickly.
Rezkin was disheartened when he realized this was not going
to be a simple track and hunt. He had no doubt Farson would use the boat to get
as far away from Rezkin as he could as quickly as possible. Rezkin was going to
have to hunt him through the cities and across the kingdom. A tiny voice in the
back of his mind was begging for attention. It wondered why he had to hunt
Farson at all. Until today, everyone Rezkin had been ordered to kill had been
some kind of criminal, as far as he knew. Master Jaiardun did not always tell
him why he had to kill someone, but Master Peider did, and they were always terrible
people. Farson, though, had always struck Rezkin as an honorable and loyal man
who adhered to the Rules as much as possible. In fact, all of the
strikers could fit that description. Again, he felt a slight tightening in his
chest when he thought of the other strikers.
Rezkin shook his head. He could not afford to think like
this. His master’s last order was to kill the strikers, and that was what he
was supposed to do. Then why were the masters fighting each other? What if
Master Jaiardun’s order was wrong? Stop it, he told himself. He
could not afford to question the orders, now. Maybe when he caught up with
Farson he could at least ask the man what in bloody hell was going on before he
killed him.
For the next seven days, Rezkin followed the river to
Perdony without incident. During his training, he had spent quite a bit of time
in the wild learning survival skills and hunting and tracking. About a half day
from the village, he encountered the first signs of people in the outworld. A
small cottage was set upon a clear hill covered in thick grasses. Milling
across the hill were fluffy white sheep. A barking dog ran around the sheep
nipping at their heels. Rezkin had never seen such a dog before. He had learned
to use dogs for hunting, but this dog did not seem to be trying to kill the
sheep.
At mid-afternoon, Rezkin got his first look at an outworlder
village. It was much like what he imagined, only everything was more colorful.
The homes were decorated with flowers in planters, and a few stalls selling
produce and other general goods were covered with bright cloth to block out the
sun. None of the men appeared to be armed, as far as he could tell, with the
exception of a few belt knives. One man carried a hoe propped on his shoulder,
but it was rusted and bent. The scruffy man was heading toward the
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