to sitting apprentices. One apprentice pointed in Tenlon’s direction, and the warriors began to make their way towards him.
“How do you know they’re looking for me?” questioned Tenlon, a queasy feeling growing in the pit of his stomach.
“They’re asking for you by name.”
The warriors approached his group.
“We are looking for a boy named Tenlon,” the taller of the two told the nearby youths.
Tenlon began looking around, pretending that he wasn’t who they were searching for. Stupid, for certain, but he had a terrible feeling upon seeing the soldiers and wanted nothing to do with them. No good could come of it.
The ruse might have worked, had it not been for the chubby finger of Forgan pointed at his head from behind.
“Are you Tenlon?” the second warrior stood above him, voice hard.
“Yes,” he muttered, looking to Graille for support but finding none.
The leather and iron-plated breastplate of the warrior creaked as he bent down, crouching uncomfortably close to him. His hair looked to be reddish-brown and cropped short, the dark stubble on his face flecked with gold. His eyes were green and alive with fire, although the rest of his face looked tired below the gloomy sky.
“I have had…a long day,” he told Tenlon, who noticed for the first time mud and blood splatters on the warriors green cloak and boots. “I think you should stand up when I speak to you,” he said quietly. “Because sometimes, when I’ve had a long, shitty day…a day like today…” His hands snapped out and grabbed Tenlon’s robe, wrenching him to his feet. “My hands will have a will of their own, and before I know it I’m holding a dead body and I can’t remember what happened.”
The warrior’s grip lifted his small frame nearly off the ground. Tenlon saw strange tattoos covering the man’s right arm, extending all the way to the back of his fist. Only a select few of the king’s soldiers were allowed to carry any such markings. This was not a man to anger.
“Desik,” spoke the taller warrior softly, his tone calm. “He’s frightened enough as it is.” Desik peered closely at Tenlon, hands tightening on his collar like heavy vices.
“I pissed an hour away looking for you. Next time you answer when we call your name, yeah?”
Tenlon nodded repeatedly and his feet were once more placed on solid ground. He smoothed out the wrinkles of his robe with shaking hands. Desik stepped away, stretching his arms above his head.
“He wasn’t going to hurt you,” the other warrior assured him. “My name is Accostas and that was Desik. We are looking for an apprentice named Tenlon. Something of a horse racer, if I’m correct.” He paused for confirmation. “Am I correct?” Tenlon was still rattled.
“I like…I like to ride.”
Accostas eyed him carefully, hardly convinced.
“You are correct,” Graille intervened, breaking the strange silence. “He is indeed a fine rider.” The soldier still wasn’t sure.
“Last spring back in the Willows, you took the purse atop an ivory stallion? You dusted three light cavalrymen?”
“That was me,” Tenlon said, making sure to choose his next words with care, not knowing the direction this was heading. “Though it was a gelding with a strong late charge. Your men were heavier than I. Timing is everything.” Accostas peered more intently at Tenlon as if sizing him up. A smile spread across his face.
“Indeed it is,” he said after a moment. “You are coming with us now.” The words lacked warmth, leaving no space for argument. Accostas headed towards the other warrior, expecting him to follow.
“My Lead Mage told me to stay here until ordered by a superior,” Tenlon blurted out, halting the tall warrior in his tracks. Accostas sighed. Desik came in close, eyes blazing.
“We are your superiors,” he hissed. “And you have been summoned, so you are coming with us. You can walk at our side like a man, or you can be carried, whining like a
“How do you know they’re looking for me?” questioned Tenlon, a queasy feeling growing in the pit of his stomach.
“They’re asking for you by name.”
The warriors approached his group.
“We are looking for a boy named Tenlon,” the taller of the two told the nearby youths.
Tenlon began looking around, pretending that he wasn’t who they were searching for. Stupid, for certain, but he had a terrible feeling upon seeing the soldiers and wanted nothing to do with them. No good could come of it.
The ruse might have worked, had it not been for the chubby finger of Forgan pointed at his head from behind.
“Are you Tenlon?” the second warrior stood above him, voice hard.
“Yes,” he muttered, looking to Graille for support but finding none.
The leather and iron-plated breastplate of the warrior creaked as he bent down, crouching uncomfortably close to him. His hair looked to be reddish-brown and cropped short, the dark stubble on his face flecked with gold. His eyes were green and alive with fire, although the rest of his face looked tired below the gloomy sky.
“I have had…a long day,” he told Tenlon, who noticed for the first time mud and blood splatters on the warriors green cloak and boots. “I think you should stand up when I speak to you,” he said quietly. “Because sometimes, when I’ve had a long, shitty day…a day like today…” His hands snapped out and grabbed Tenlon’s robe, wrenching him to his feet. “My hands will have a will of their own, and before I know it I’m holding a dead body and I can’t remember what happened.”
The warrior’s grip lifted his small frame nearly off the ground. Tenlon saw strange tattoos covering the man’s right arm, extending all the way to the back of his fist. Only a select few of the king’s soldiers were allowed to carry any such markings. This was not a man to anger.
“Desik,” spoke the taller warrior softly, his tone calm. “He’s frightened enough as it is.” Desik peered closely at Tenlon, hands tightening on his collar like heavy vices.
“I pissed an hour away looking for you. Next time you answer when we call your name, yeah?”
Tenlon nodded repeatedly and his feet were once more placed on solid ground. He smoothed out the wrinkles of his robe with shaking hands. Desik stepped away, stretching his arms above his head.
“He wasn’t going to hurt you,” the other warrior assured him. “My name is Accostas and that was Desik. We are looking for an apprentice named Tenlon. Something of a horse racer, if I’m correct.” He paused for confirmation. “Am I correct?” Tenlon was still rattled.
“I like…I like to ride.”
Accostas eyed him carefully, hardly convinced.
“You are correct,” Graille intervened, breaking the strange silence. “He is indeed a fine rider.” The soldier still wasn’t sure.
“Last spring back in the Willows, you took the purse atop an ivory stallion? You dusted three light cavalrymen?”
“That was me,” Tenlon said, making sure to choose his next words with care, not knowing the direction this was heading. “Though it was a gelding with a strong late charge. Your men were heavier than I. Timing is everything.” Accostas peered more intently at Tenlon as if sizing him up. A smile spread across his face.
“Indeed it is,” he said after a moment. “You are coming with us now.” The words lacked warmth, leaving no space for argument. Accostas headed towards the other warrior, expecting him to follow.
“My Lead Mage told me to stay here until ordered by a superior,” Tenlon blurted out, halting the tall warrior in his tracks. Accostas sighed. Desik came in close, eyes blazing.
“We are your superiors,” he hissed. “And you have been summoned, so you are coming with us. You can walk at our side like a man, or you can be carried, whining like a
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