his
lips into one of his practiced smiles that Master Peider insisted belonged with
the pleasantries.
Rezkin knew he had performed correctly when Mayor Jorge’s
shoulders relaxed, and the man smiled in return as he clasped Rezkin’s hand.
“Well, sir, we have some fine produce just harvested this morning. Carlon,
here, is the butcher,” he explained as he pointed to a man over his shoulder,
“and he can get you some decent cuts of meat. Hay and oats are stored down by
the smithy. Is there anything else you might be needing while you’re here?”
While the man acted pleasant enough, it was obvious from the anxious stares and
fidgeting of the villagers that they would prefer for Rezkin to leave the town
as soon as possible.
The warrior shook his head while maintaining his smile. “No,
that should be fine, thank you. Oh,” he said as though he had just remembered
some minor detail, “I am looking for someone who may have traveled through
here. Has anyone not of the village come around in the past week?”
The mayor’s smile slipped, and his eyes darted around the
gathered crowd in query. People shook their heads, and the mayor turned back to
the young warrior. “N-No, sir. Not that we know of, aside from you, that is.
Should we be looking for someone?” he asked nervously, as though he thought he
might be failing a test.
“No, no worries. If you have not seen him then he has
probably passed on by,” Rezkin replied.
Mayor Jorge eyed Rezkin’s swords and asked, “Is the man
dangerous? Should we be concerned?”
Rezkin pondered the question for only a moment before he
replied, “No, I do not expect he would be any kind of threat to you good
people. He is…a comrade of mine.” That tiny voice in the back of Rezkin’s mind
was whispering, “ Of course he is not a threat to the innocent villagers. ” He will try to kill me , he reminded the voice.
“I see,” the mayor said, but he did not look convinced as
his eyes fell once again on Rezkin’s swords. Rezkin nodded his thanks and then
headed toward the produce stalls. By this time, the gathered crowd had finally
attracted the attention of the oblivious small-men, and they were gawking at
the massive battle charger as Rezkin bartered for his goods. The deals seemed a
little too good, and the young man was once again reminded that these
people wanted him gone.
Upon leaving the village, Rezkin paid close attention to the
bank along the river just in case Farson had left his boat in search of
supplies. Rezkin might have been able to find someone in the village willing to
sell him a boat, but then he would have to abandon the battle charger. There
was also the possibility that Farson had left the river on the other side and
headed west toward Caradon, rather than continuing south to Justain. In truth,
Rezkin knew that he had probably already lost Farson for good.
Rezkin decided to continue south to Justain, and if he found
nothing there, he would continue all the way to the capital city of Kaibain.
Farson was a striker, and while the masters and strikers had never really
explained who the strikers were relative to the rest of the kingdom, Rezkin
always had the impression they were, or had at one time, been soldiers. With
their levels of mastery, it was most likely that these particular soldiers had
belonged to the king, rather than some lord’s estate. If he needed to look for
the king’s soldiers, the best place to do that would be the capital.
That thought made him pause. If the strikers were part
of the military, did that mean there would be more strikers than just the ones
he knew? If so, was he supposed to kill all of the strikers or just the
ones who had been at the fortress? And, if he was supposed to kill strikers and
they did work for the king, did that mean he was a traitor against the
crown? But, if he was a traitor against the crown, why had he been bequeathed
the Sheyalin blades?
Maybe Rezkin was supposed to work for the king, and the
lips into one of his practiced smiles that Master Peider insisted belonged with
the pleasantries.
Rezkin knew he had performed correctly when Mayor Jorge’s
shoulders relaxed, and the man smiled in return as he clasped Rezkin’s hand.
“Well, sir, we have some fine produce just harvested this morning. Carlon,
here, is the butcher,” he explained as he pointed to a man over his shoulder,
“and he can get you some decent cuts of meat. Hay and oats are stored down by
the smithy. Is there anything else you might be needing while you’re here?”
While the man acted pleasant enough, it was obvious from the anxious stares and
fidgeting of the villagers that they would prefer for Rezkin to leave the town
as soon as possible.
The warrior shook his head while maintaining his smile. “No,
that should be fine, thank you. Oh,” he said as though he had just remembered
some minor detail, “I am looking for someone who may have traveled through
here. Has anyone not of the village come around in the past week?”
The mayor’s smile slipped, and his eyes darted around the
gathered crowd in query. People shook their heads, and the mayor turned back to
the young warrior. “N-No, sir. Not that we know of, aside from you, that is.
Should we be looking for someone?” he asked nervously, as though he thought he
might be failing a test.
“No, no worries. If you have not seen him then he has
probably passed on by,” Rezkin replied.
Mayor Jorge eyed Rezkin’s swords and asked, “Is the man
dangerous? Should we be concerned?”
Rezkin pondered the question for only a moment before he
replied, “No, I do not expect he would be any kind of threat to you good
people. He is…a comrade of mine.” That tiny voice in the back of Rezkin’s mind
was whispering, “ Of course he is not a threat to the innocent villagers. ” He will try to kill me , he reminded the voice.
“I see,” the mayor said, but he did not look convinced as
his eyes fell once again on Rezkin’s swords. Rezkin nodded his thanks and then
headed toward the produce stalls. By this time, the gathered crowd had finally
attracted the attention of the oblivious small-men, and they were gawking at
the massive battle charger as Rezkin bartered for his goods. The deals seemed a
little too good, and the young man was once again reminded that these
people wanted him gone.
Upon leaving the village, Rezkin paid close attention to the
bank along the river just in case Farson had left his boat in search of
supplies. Rezkin might have been able to find someone in the village willing to
sell him a boat, but then he would have to abandon the battle charger. There
was also the possibility that Farson had left the river on the other side and
headed west toward Caradon, rather than continuing south to Justain. In truth,
Rezkin knew that he had probably already lost Farson for good.
Rezkin decided to continue south to Justain, and if he found
nothing there, he would continue all the way to the capital city of Kaibain.
Farson was a striker, and while the masters and strikers had never really
explained who the strikers were relative to the rest of the kingdom, Rezkin
always had the impression they were, or had at one time, been soldiers. With
their levels of mastery, it was most likely that these particular soldiers had
belonged to the king, rather than some lord’s estate. If he needed to look for
the king’s soldiers, the best place to do that would be the capital.
That thought made him pause. If the strikers were part
of the military, did that mean there would be more strikers than just the ones
he knew? If so, was he supposed to kill all of the strikers or just the
ones who had been at the fortress? And, if he was supposed to kill strikers and
they did work for the king, did that mean he was a traitor against the
crown? But, if he was a traitor against the crown, why had he been bequeathed
the Sheyalin blades?
Maybe Rezkin was supposed to work for the king, and the
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