Tarren's Test

Tarren’s Test

Tarren could barely hear the shouts and jeers, despite the crushing din of the crowd. His heart raced as he watched his friend, Mina, in the Test Circle as she grappled with the soldier. Spellbound, he could not take his eyes away from the scene unfolding before him as his nine year old friend seemed to swell larger and larger, visibly growing before the crowd. With a defiant scream, she threw the soldier’s arm away from her throat and smashed her fist into his face, bones audibly breaking as the soldier’s face bulged under her fist. The man staggered backwards, reassessing and gathering himself for another assault.

Tarren closed his eyes and tried to control his breathing. He was to be next in the Circle, and was utterly terrified. Not only was his life in jeopardy, but his family’s honour was as well. Tarren tried to remind himself that all children in the Kingdom went through the Test, and almost all passed. It was a rite of passage, a challenge that identified and separated the Talents and allowed for the proper education of those who emerged from the Test Circle.

His father must have sensed his tension, for he squeezed Tarren’s shoulder with his massive hands and smiled reassuringly. Logan was a builder, an Earth-Talent with immense power, and he had helped to build the many aqueducts that ran through the Kingdom’s capital city, Therindil. Tarren’s mother, Anya, was a Water-Talent, and an accomplished healer who had traveled with the King’s Imperial Army before she met and married Logan. Tarren forced himself to smile upwards at his father, inwardly chastising himself for his lack of self-confidence. It was more than likely that he himself would share either the Earth- or Water-Talents of his parents. If not, perhaps he was blessed with the Talent of Fire or Air. Tarren liked the idea of being an Air-Talent, able to communicate with the spirit world and call upon the vast wealth of knowledge the gods offered. The priests were some of the most respected people in the Kingdom, for just this reason, and the King regularly considered their counsel closely on all manner of things from the daily concerns of court to military strategy and tactics.

This thought made him excited, and Tarren felt the edge of his fear disappear slightly. He watched Mina as the soldier charged, swinging his sword in a wide, low arc in an attempt to cut her feet away from under her. She danced nimbly away, just outside his reach, and Tarren could see her smiling now, a mirthful grin spread across her face as she learned that she would not face serious injury or death here today. The pair circled each other slowly, and Tarren caught the flash of red in her eyes, signalling her Fire-Talent. The part of him that was anxious for his friend vanished as the soldier’s face moved into view, and Tarren saw the man was shaken, uncertain as to how to proceed. Since most soldiers were Fire-Talents themselves, the man could likely call upon his own skills, honed through years of education and practice, and the balance of strength and speed would be entirely his.

But doing so was dangerous. An untrained Fire-Talent who was desperate could easily lose control over their powers and regaining control was extremely difficult once that control was lost. If the soldier pushed Mina too hard, her desperation could easily mean his death. Death in the Test Circle was not uncommon, but the Council of Elders tried to minimize the human casualties.

Tarren needn’t have worried. The sword swung again, flashing in the sunlight, and again Mina danced away, almost playful in her movements, then deftly cutting inside the sword’s reach before the soldier could start the backswing and drove her fist into the side of the soldier’s head. Bone crunched under the helmet, and the soldier staggered sideways, struggling to stay on his feet. Mina kicked at his leg, and before Tarren could control himself he winced as the man’s shin snapped, bone tearing through his flesh and bringing him down in an agonized scream.

“Enough!” shouted one of the Elders, and Mina stopped her attack mid-charge. A man and woman, undoubtedly Water-Talents, rushed forward with bandages and began tending to the fallen soldier. Under their care, he would be walking again by the end of the day. Mina’s face glowed as she turned towards Tarren, her eyes still burning red and a wide grin across her face announcing her proud triumph to the entire town.

“Congratulations, Mina Kuthos,” the Elder continued. Turning, he addressed the King and the crowd. “My lord, I present to you a Fire-Talent, and one of excellent instinct if I may say so.”

“Very good,” the King responded. “Now who’s next? I want to be back in time to see off the Prince before he leaves for the Northern Front.”

Tarren barely caught his breath before he was shoved forwards and the Circle closed behind him. Two soldiers quickly came forward and took his arms, their iron-strong hands making it utterly impossible for him to move. The Elder who had ended Mina’s Test gestured at someone, and a third person roughly pulled a black bag down over Tarren’s head, plunging his world into blackness. He could feel the sun and see vague shapes through the cloth, but beyond that he could see nothing. Tarren’s heart pounding in his ears, he could feel the cloth being pulled against his face as he sucked in air, completely losing control of himself and beginning to breathe in short, ragged gasps.

His breath was cut short when he heard the screaming, a terrible, and shrill shriek that tore into his ears, seeming to pierce into his very mind. It came closer, and Tarren heard the murmur of the crowd evolve into an excited babble, pregnant with anticipation that signaled that his Test would be substantially different than those he had seen up to that point in the day. He barely heard Mina calling good luck to him over and over as she was led out of the Circle and returned to her parents. The shrieking grew closer still, and it was all he could do to prevent himself from crying and emptying his bladder and bowels into his britches, the terror churning and building on itself by the second. He was thankful he had not eaten breakfast.

Tarren’s mind raced, recalling the countless hours spent with his father drilling the concentration mantras that would help him locate and discover any Talent within himself during the Test. These had begun when he was six, and continued daily until this day, ninety-nine days after his ninth birthday when he had become eligible for the Test.

Talents are discovered during times of extreme stress, son. Do not be afraid of the fear, let it guide you and feel within yourself for a connection, any connection, any sense of strength within you. If you find it, you will know how to use it. He could hear his father’s voice, but it was not as reassuring as he would have liked it to be. The shrieking was almost deafening, sounding like it came from directly beside him. It was accompanied by a horrible scratching and chattering, like rough metals being scraped against each other. Hands grabbed his own and forced his clenched fists open, and Tarren felt the rough hilt of a sword being placed against one palm. He gripped the cool leather, and felt another handle, this one of wood, being forced into his other hand, and he guessed this was a shield judging by its weight. Then the hood was torn from his head, and he heard the soldier’s scrambling backwards towards the edge of the Circle. Tarren’s breath caught in his throat, and his blood ran cold.

Directly across the Circle stood a cage made with heavy steel bars that had required two horses to pull it, which were now being led away. Crisp, bright yellow eyes bored into his, and Tarren immediately regretted making eye contact.

The kreston stared directly at Tarren through its reptilian eyes, opened its maw, and a harsh, scraping rattle echoed from deep in its throat. Tarren had heard men tell stories of these alpine predators from high in the southern mountain ranges, but he had assumed they were exaggerations or mythical beasts created to scare children out of running away from home or straying from a travelling group.

Heavy blue-green scales shone in the sunlight, and its eyes burned into him, betraying the creature’s intelligence. A ridge of small spikes ran the length of its back and tail, culminating at the tip in a single, tapered plate that looked to Tarren as if it could penetrate stone. Crouching with its hind legs still, the kreston raked at the bars with its front feet, the long razor-sharp claws clanging against the metal and sending shivers needling up and down Tarren’s spine. There was a fold of fine skin connecting the front limbs to the animal’s side, and Tarren realized this must serve as a form of wing, allowing the creature to leap incredible distances and glide between the cliffs and rocky outcroppings that constituted its home.

Its head was long and narrow, its snout ending in a beak-like tooth that curled over its bottom lip. Behind this lay row upon row upon row of needle-sharp teeth, curved backwards to ensure that whatever was unlucky enough to be bitten had no chance of escape. The eyes were mean, and seemed to glow in contrast with the colouring of the scales. At the back of the head was a large, flat crest of what looked like bone fanned out to protect the animal’s neck from being bitten, or more important for Tarren, to protect the neck against a sword. If Tarren thought he was frightened before, he was petrified now.

“Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, I give you Tarren Langsher, son of Logan and Anya Langsher. Today he partakes in the sacred Test against a kreston, perhaps the most feared creature in the known world,” the Elder announced, and then continued, turning to face Tarren. “Boy, you enter the Circle a child, but you will exit a man. May the gods bless you with the Talents so that you may be victorious. BEGIN!”

Tarren realized that as the Elder had been speaking soldiers had emerged at the edges of the Circle, forming a wall of shields, spears and swords. Those shields clashed and rattled as they were raised and slotted together, forming that wall and making it utterly impenetrable. There was nowhere for him to run, had that even been an option. His attention returned to the cage as chains rattled and the front of the cage swung open.

The kreston opened its jaws and shrieked, Tarren catching a glimpse of its forked tongue. Then in a rush the beast surged forwards and struck at him with its front claws. Tarren tried to dodge aside, but was too slow, and felt something hot trickling down his chest. Glancing down, he saw three deep cuts showing through his shirt. That heat, he realized, was his own blood.

He staggered backwards, raising his shield and trying to put some distance between him and the kreston. Already panting, he watched as the kreston held its ground, watching him with those yellow, reptilian eyes. Without warning, it spun sideways, and Tarren barely got his shield in the path of its tail, which whipped out and slammed flat against the wood, leaving his arm tingling. He swung desperately with his sword, but was far too slow, missing his mark by several feet. He jumped to his left as the kreston again lunged forward, its teeth snapping shut where his sword-arm had been just moments before. As he backpedalled desperately, it slowly returned to the centre of the Circle, its head low. The kreston let out a long, low hiss that reminded Tarren of the sounds the roughpapers his father used to smooth the wooden planks when the papers were rubbed together. Tarren hated that sound, and couldn’t help but shudder.

Tarren forced himself to disengage from the fight. He found it was easier to dodge the attacks of the animal that came sporadically, but just barely, yet he was far too slow to counter-attack, and he dared not venture close enough to try attacking its body. His terror was more real than ever, and he recalled the hours upon hours of practice with his father. Fear was good. Fear would find the Talents, if he had any. If he didn’t, well, all he had to do was survive long enough for the Elders to end the fight and be saved by the ring of soldiers. If he didn’t survive, then his worries were over. So Tarren tried even harder to disengage, taking note of the fear and turning his consciousness inwards, and he began searching for something, anything, that might indicate a Talent.

He could feel nothing. Not a single, solitary thing. No tingling or numbness or anything that could possibly be called Talent. His heart beat faster and faster, his breathing changing from panting to shallow gasps as he felt the growing burn in his arms from holding the heavy sword and shield. His legs grew weak as he dodged left and right and back and forth, his movements becoming slower and lacking the crispness that he had felt after the kreston’s first attack. His dangerous dance with the kreston dragged on and on, and as the inward search still failed to find any semblance of Talent, Tarren began to panic.

In desperation, he tried to find his father’s face in the crowd, hoping that somehow this would save him from what he now considered an almost certain death. As he searched the crowd for his father’s reassuring smile, Tarren didn’t see the kreston’s tail until it was too late, and paid dearly for it. The spear-like tip whipped forwards and drove straight through the shield, just beside his forearm, the edge slicing a deep gash in his skin, and with a sudden jerk the kreston hurled him across the full span of the Circle. He crashed into the wall of shields and slumped to the ground in a tangled mass of limbs as his breath was knocked from his lungs.

As the world spun around him, Tarren became aware that the crowd had grown silent. The cheering and shouting that had formed the churning backdrop to his fight was gone now that it seemed there may be a death in the ring. Groaning, Tarren dragged himself to his knees and turned to face the kreston, and saw it slowly advancing upon him, its jaws wide and claws clicking harshly on the cobblestones as it moved. Tarren tried to get up, but his breath caught in his throat as a dizzying wave of pain erupted from his chest. His arm was bleeding badly, the shield stained red with blood that had dripped through it as the kreston had thrown Tarren with its tail. He slumped to the ground, panting, watching the effect of the approaching kreston on the soldiers as they backed away from him, giving the animal room. He watched in horror as the kreston reached forward, and Tarren could not help from crying out as the animal took hold of him with one of its front claws and savagely jerked him forwards, dragging him closer to it and opening a deep cut in his ankle. Fighting back tears, Tarren found himself looking upwards, up into those yellow, glowing eyes as the creature opened its jaws less than three feet from his head. Tarren closed his eyes and hoped for a quick death.

Suddenly, Tarren saw himself on the ground, eyes closed, arm and leg bloodied from the attacks. But where was the kreston? He looked this way and that, seeing the Circle, the shields and spears, the men and women, and the children. He could seem them all watching him closely in what he thought was confusion. Tarren blinked, and there it was, looking down at him with those alien eyes, its mouth now closed. The kreston let out a low hiss, and opened its maw again. Tarren squeezed his eyes shut for the second time, and saw himself on the ground.

Something made him want to back up, and as he did so, he saw himself growing further away, now covered in the amber glow of the later afternoon sunlight. Glancing down, Tarren cried out in shock as he saw not his feet, but the clawed, scaled talons of the kreston’s front legs. But instead of his own voice, he heard a sharp, coughing sound, hallway between a bark and a snarl, erupt from somewhere very nearby. He flung his head this way and that, desperately searching for the kreston, but saw only the crowd, and glimpses of the animal’s hind legs. Then it dawned on him. He was looking at himself through the eyes of the kreston.

Was this Talent? He had never heard of anything like this occurring, ever. Fire-Talents could not control things with their minds, nor could Air-Talents. But he didn’t really care, all that really mattered to him right now was that he was not being ripped apart and eaten in front of all his friends. Tarren spun around, jumped and hopped, turning this way and that, rearing up and crouching down, experimenting with his new-found ability to control the kreston’s body. He opened his mouth and yelled in triumph, hearing an ear-splitting shriek instead.

But he could also hear murmuring, growing ever more insistent as it moved through the crowd, rising and growing like a live thing stirring after a long sleep.

“What in the Gods…” Tarren heard a woman say behind him.

Tarren grinned, and heard gasps of awe and wonder in response. He laughed, and again heard the staccato bark he had heard before. This feeling was incredible, and as he continued to experiment with what various movements, or when he occasionally stopped to listen to the crowd, Tarren began to hear and sense from both his body and the kreston’s at once. He wished he could see what he was making the animal do, and then, suddenly, found himself looking at the creature, though this time he still felt it within him. He did what he thought was a flick of its tail, and was amazed to see the piercing appendage lash out viciously to the side. A nearby soldier barely ducked in time as the tip lashed through the air where his head had been only seconds before.

Tarren had no clue what he was doing, but he realized that this must be some form of Talent, or at least magic. He did not know how he was doing what he was doing, but as he thought things, the kreston performed the actions, darting this way and that, lashing out with its tail, swiping at the air with its talons, or rearing up on its hind legs and screaming that terrifying, ear-shattering shriek that had almost made Tarren soil himself only minutes earlier. It was his, completely harmless, and under his control.

Suddenly a gap appeared in the wall of shields, and a trio of heavily armed soldiers ran into the Circle. Seeing them as the kreston, Tarren watched as they fanned out, forming a triangle around the kreston’s head, one with a spear in front and two with swords to the sides. Tarren could feel a cold, empty fear in him, but before he could think about where it was coming from or what it meant, he saw the soldier raise the spear while the other two simultaneously raised their swords. The spear flashed forwards, and Tarren cringed as he saw the tip coming straight at his face, squeezing his eyes shut.

Then he was there, on the ground and alone, watching from the other side of the Circle as the kreston screamed, blood pouring from its snout, but before it could react any further, the soldiers on either side of its head brought their swords down at once in arcs that dipped below the crest of bone that protected the animal’s neck. The kreston’s head dropped from its body, severed cleanly, blood pouring from its neck and its legs folding under it. Tarren breathed deeply, and shut his eyes. It was over.

The crowd was deathly quiet. Tarren opened his eyes, and saw faces turned towards him, filled not with the jubilant smiles of victory, but with fear. As he looked around, he was horrified that some were staring at him in terror. Tarren stared back, watching in shock as those near him pulled away, others beginning to point and mutter as they slowly pushed their way towards the back of the crowd of on-lookers. Everyone was afraid of him.

Tarren desperately searched the crowd for his mother and father, and when he found them, his heart sank further into despair. His mother was crying, her hands failing in their attempt to cover her face and hide the tears that ran down her cheeks and leaving clean rivers in the dust that coated everything around the Circle. His father looked haggard, tired, and forlorn as he looked back at Tarren, making eye contact, and then breaking it to stare unseeing into the distance. His father did not look quite disappointed, but rather fearful. Tarren’s heart raced as he swept the crowd for the faces of his friends. Dread flooded through him as he found each of their faces, which were also turned away from him. Mina’s face was buried against her father’s chest, and her shoulders shuddered as she sobbed uncontrollably.

Tarren dragged himself to his feet, feeling faint but not caring, and turned to push his way through the crowd. He had to leave, to get somewhere alone and think. As he staggered forward on his injured leg, holding his injured arm to his side, a wide path through the audience opened before him. Tarren did not fight the tears that ran down his face now as he pressed forwards, his feet carrying him faster and faster, and soon he was running out of the crowd and down the cobbled streets that made the arteries and veins of the village, oblivious to the pain in his ankle.

Before long he was at the edge of the town, plunging onwards through the fields and meadows towards the line of trees that marked the edge of Darkwood, the forest that marked the boundaries of the county from the next. It was into this wall of leaves, branches, and thorns that he ran until his lungs burned and his legs collapsed under him. He crawled towards a large, old oak with branches that dropped down low over the road and curled up in a crook where its mighty roots pierced the earth, hidden from view and the world which only hours before had seemed to hold such promise.

He did not know how long he sat there, crying, until he heard footsteps falling on the roadway. Tarren held his breath, hoping beyond hope that the footfalls did not belong to anyone who might be looking for him. But curiosity got the better of him, and he stole a glance out through the twisted wall of leaves between him and the world.

He didn’t recognize the man, but noted immediately that it was no one he knew. The stranger was handsomely dressed, clothed in dark greys and blacks, large polished boots encasing his lower legs, and the man carried two short swords at his sides, only partially hidden beneath the black cloak he wore over his dark clothes. Tarren was not sure if he was a noble, a mercenary, or someone else, but the man’s presence failed to produce any emotion whatsoever beyond the initial apprehension of his rather foreboding appearance. Tarren uncrossed his legs, making to get up.

“Don’t worry, boy, I’m not here to harm you,” the man said. Not sure whether to believe him or not, Tarren remained still, breath catching in his throat and not running, but not relaxing either.

“Seriously, boy, relax. If I meant you harm, do you really think we’d be talking right now?” Tarren supposed that made sense, forced himself to breathe slowly, and surveyed the surroundings. Nothing had changed since he arrived in Darkwood, save for the sun being much lower in the sky. How long had he been here? His mother would be worried about him, or at least she would have been before the Test. The thought of her face streaked with the tears, and of his father’s pained look at the Test’s completion – its success was questionable – gave Tarren a sickened, almost nauseous feeling.

“They fear you because they do not understand you, son.” Tarren’s mind began to race. This man must have been at the Test, because there was no other rational reason for him to know of what had happened. If the Elder’s had sent him, Tarren was certain that the man would have just grabbed him and would be forcing him back to the village. Or maybe he would now be dead, and this stranger would be cleaning his blood from one of those swords that hung from his belt.

“Did you see their faces? What happened? What did I do?” Tarren asked, failing to prevent the desperation he was feeling from entering his voice. Tarren could not put his finger on it, yet there was something oddly calming about the man’s presence. Tarren noted a roan mare secured loosely to a nearby tree, grazing on the undergrowth, and guessed that this must have been the visitor’s. The man gestured, indicating his unspoken question, and Tarren nodded his consent. The man sat beside him, crossing his ankles and leaning against the tree. Long brown hair masked a deep scar that arched across his cheek between his ear and the corner of his mouth, ending at a neatly trimmed beard. Broad shoulders betrayed the man’s strength, and the lithe smoothness with which he moved reminded Tarren of those knights and fighters at the jousts he had attended with his father who had been the most difficult to defeat, ducking in and out as they dodged attack after attack, moving with blistering speed among multiple foes. Tarren realized that this man was likely an impressive swordsman. Hard, ice-blue eyes locked onto Tarren’s, and did not move as the man began to speak.

“My name, Tarren Langsher, is Ranzes Hornstone, though you will often hear my friends call me Daggers. One day, perhaps you will too. For now, call me Ran,” he paused, and Tarren nodded. Ran continued. “Ever since you were old enough, you have been training for today, for the Test, to determine which Talent, if any, you held within yourself. You have been taught that there are four possible Talents, those of Earth, Air, Fire, and Water, one each for the Crafters, Summoners, Warriors, and Healers. Since you were of eight years, you have attended the Tests so that you would not be caught off-guard by what the Elder Council, and by extension the King, threw at you, or at least not by much. Tell me if any of this is incorrect.”

“It is all correct, sir,” Tarren replied, relaxing a bit more. Ran’s eyes, though the hue of ice, held warmth and kindness, Tarren noticed, and he found himself liking the man. Ran smiled slightly.

“I’m no knight, Tarren, so never sir me. Don’t ever give respect where it is undeserved, and don’t ever withhold that respect which is deserved.” Ran paused, and continued talking after Tarren had nodded that he understood. “What do we know about these powers, Tarren? Very little, other than what they are good for. Warriors are warriors, and they form the stronger military units. Healers heal. Summoners summon and give council. Crafters build. Can you think of anything else that I haven’t covered?” Tarren could not, and shook his head.

“All of these purposes, Tarren, are of use to the King and his Kingdom. Is there anything, anything at all, which you can think of that a kingdom might require or a King may desire in order to survive that is not provided by any of the Talents?”

Tarren was confused. He had thought that he would be getting answers, not riddles from some non-knight in black. But he thought about it anyway, running through the various possibilities, ignoring for the moment that he knew little about what King’s did and needed to rule. Warriors to fight, builders to build, healers to heal, counsellors to provide advice…was he missing something?

“No, you are not missing anything, Tarren, and that is precisely my point.”

Tarren jumped, his body and limbs literally twitching. He had said nothing. Yet Ran had known precisely what he was thinking. Now that he thought about it, he had no clue how Ran knew his name.

“You catch on quick, boy,” Ran smiled.

“How did you do that?” Tarren asked, confused and beginning to become frightened and again, he tensed his body in preparation to make a run for it, but Ran raised his hands in the way Tarren’s father would when approaching a nervous horse. Ran smiled warmly.

“Relax, son, answers will come. Imagine, Tarren, what it takes to carry out a war. You need to plan where you will send your army, how many men you need, how many horses and supplies they will need, when you want them where you want them, how much you will pay them…the list goes on and on. And now, think about where King’s rule from.”

“Court.”

“Exactly! Now we must ask, who else is at court? All kinds of people, from nobles, merchants, peasants, and most important for this exercise, foreign dignitaries.” Tarren nodded, though he was having a hard time keeping up and was no less confused. “Everything I said a King needed to consider, tell me, what is it called?”

“Tactics?” Tarren guessed. Ran nodded.

“Close, Tarren. The answer I was looking for was “knowledge.” Information. Everything, literally, everything that a King does, depends on knowledge, the knowledge he gets from his councils, that he has, that he obtains from his spies...we need not discuss the list at length. The lesson, Tarren Langsher, is that knowledge is power. And King’s need power to remain King’s.”

“Okay…” Tarren said slowly, starting to grow impatient. “But what does this have to do with my Test? Why is everyone so afraid of me?”

“There are five Talents, Tarren, not four. Tell me, which of the four Talents you know of would matter to a King who could not control who did and did not know when and where his army would attack?”

Tarren considered this. The Crafters didn’t matter, except maybe to build more walls, but that would take time. Summoners could only give more information or bring forth spirits, but would that help a King at war? Warriors would always be warriors, regardless of who knew when and where an army would attack, but surely more would die in battle if an enemy knew when and where to expect the attack. Healers? He looked at Ran, who was watching him and smiling. His mind-reading was getting to be annoying.

“Again, you are on the right track. My point is that who knows what and when is vital for a King. And the Talent you stumbled upon in the Test Circle today can play an important role in controlling who knows what information.” Now Tarren was even more confused.

“But today, I controlled the kreston. I saw what it saw, what it did…” Tarren trailed off as his mind clicked.

“Exactly! No one else in that crowd save but a few knew what was going on, except that suddenly, when you near almost certain death, you were not, and the creature was not behaving like the savage, fearless predator we are all told kreston’s are! People were confused, and were frightened of you because they thought that you must have something to do with what was happening. Talent comes, Tarren, when we are pushed, when we are forced to find it. Most have inborn Talents, and most of those with Talent have one of the four. You have the fifth, what we call the Seeker’s Talent.”

Tarren considered this, but failed to see any connection. “But why haven’t we heard of this? Wouldn’t we know that some people were Seeker’s?”

Why do you think?

Tarren visibly jumped again, his heart pounding in his ears. He had heard Ran’s voice clearly, yet he had been watching the man’s face. Ran’s lips had not moved. Had he heard Ran’s thoughts?

Yes.

Tarren didn’t know whether to be relieved, curious, or terrified. His heart raced as he tried to process everything he had heard, thought, and seen today. The Circle, the kreston, his terror, the crowd and their fear, his flight from the town, and now this Ran character who was talking to him without talking to him. Tarren had been growing to like Ran, yet now there seemed to be something underneath this calm, welcoming exterior that betrayed darkness within him. Tarren sensed that Ran could be a very dangerous man. What Tarren was starting to question was whether he would be allowed to leave Darkwood alive.

“Imagine how a King’s power would change, son, if he had, at his disposal, nobles,” Ran raised his fingers and made quotation mark signs the same way Tarren’s father sometimes did, “who you could send as foreign dignitaries to other courts and kingdoms, who had the power to enter the mind of any person in that court at will. Consider my earlier point, and ask yourself what it could mean for a King who might not know whom among his courtiers could be foreign spies with immediate and total access to his thoughts on how to attack their own lord or commander. What would it mean for an army with a general who could talk with his officers without opening his mouth?” Tarren was speechless. He had not considered those points. Now his conversation with Ran slowly started to make sense.

“But I could make the kreston do things too…” Before Tarren could finish his sentence, he slapped himself. Hard. Then he reached across the gap between Ran and himself and, before Ran could stop him, drew one of the shortswords and held it to Ran’s throat. His face stinging and turning red, Tarren then lowered the sword, deftly spun the blade around his wrist – a trick he had never done without cutting himself – and returned it, hilt first, to Ran’s outstretched hand. Ran raised his eyebrow before continuing.

“And imagine the incredible danger a man or woman wielding such a Talent could pose, when they could utterly control the actions of another. Suicides become murders. A kingdom calmly passing from father to son could be patricide, and assassinations appear to be suicides or deaths from natural causes. And the signing of trade deals becomes coercion or theft.” Ran’s horse whinnied, and they both looked up. Late afternoon had grown to evening, and the moon was rising over the treeline in the east.

“Wow,” Tarren said softly. “Seeker’s seem so,” he paused, searching for the word.

“Invincible?” Ran offered, chuckling softly.

“Yes.”

Ran sighed, letting his head fall back and resting it against the tree. “Tarren, with great power there is often great sacrifice. Do you remember in the Circle today when the soldiers killed the kreston?” Tarren did, nodding and shuddering involuntarily as he remembered the point of the spear lancing towards his face.

“Whether you noticed or not, their strategy of attack was very precise. Forming a triangle is excellent against an untrained Seeker such as you, however would be much less certain against a trained Seeker. Killing a wild kreston without many, many men is extremely difficult, unless they are all powerful Fire-Talents. The strategy,” Ran again mimed the quotation, “was meant to trick you into squeezing your eyes shut, and apparently it worked, or we would not be having this conversation.

“You see, Tarren, in order to enter the mind of another, a Seeker must extend a part of their mind to do so. The mind, much like the heart or lungs, is one of the body’s strongest points and at the same time one of its weakest points. A strong mind, like heart and lungs, can make a person a formidable opponent. However the converse is also true – a weak mind can make for a weak opponent. If one of these three organs is destroyed, the entire body is destroyed along with it.

“Ironically, a Seeker is at their weakest when they are exercising their Talent. By extending their mind into another body, they increase the number of ways others have to kill them. If you had not completely exited the kreston’s mind when the soldiers attacked, killing the kreston would have killed you too.”

Tarren was stunned.

“So if it’s so easy to kill a Seeker, why are they considered so powerful?” Tarren asked.

“Untrained, they are easy to kill. You were mere moments from death, in fact I believe you squeezed your eyes shut, when you first entered the kreston’s mind. Likewise, a similarly serious situation had to manifest itself before you were able to properly exit its mind before you were killed.” A trained Seeker, however, is very different. We can enter, exit, and control others virtually at will. The reason why the strategy deployed against you today would have been so much less certain to work against a trained Seeker is that a trained Seeker could have jumped at will from the kreston into the mind of any one of the soldiers. Suddenly the fight would have been two soldiers against a trained enemy and a wild, injured kreston. Much less favourable odds, if you ask me. The trick is that the nobility, their bodyguards, and other Seekers are taught how to recognize, protect themselves and defend against active Seekers. A King, or even other lord, nobles and other courtiers, have great need for the skills we possess.

Tarren pinched himself, unsure of whether he was dreaming this entire conversation. It was difficult to converse with someone who spoke some sentences and only thought others, yet you heard everything. Tarren looked at the darkening forest around them, the shadows lengthening. In the distance, an eerie howl echoed up through the trees towards the moon. A question danced across his mind, its implications toying with his nerves as he wrestled with whether or not to put his thoughts to words. He knew Ran would already know what he was going to ask.

“Can I ever go home?” Tarren whispered, his voice cracking. Ran uncrossed and recrossed his ankles, clasping his hands and bowing his head. Ran sighed, and Tarren looked at the man, who suddenly seemed much smaller than he had when they had first met.

“No, Tarren, you cannot. What the crowds saw today terrified them, as you know, for they do not understand those like you and I. The Elders know of us, and yet choose not to know, for fear that those even more powerful than themselves may, how shall we say, deal with them,” he emphasized the phrase. “None of the commonfolk or the Elder Council would have anything to do with you. Some nobles may approach you much as I have, however what is first offered in friendship could quickly be replaced with hostility – a weapon a lord cannot wield himself is a weapon he does not wish others to wield either, and thus he will do everything in his power to make sure that if he can’t have you, no one can.”

Ran paused, turning and looking into Tarren’s eyes. Any warmth Tarren had seen was now gone, and the icy blue cut a cold chill through Tarren as he stared into Ran’s face. It was at that moment that Tarren knew that if he did not accept any offer of friendship made to him, he would die. Ran curled one corner of his mouth ever so slightly, confirming Tarren’s suspicion.

“Whom do you serve?” Tarren asked as boldly as he could, hoping the anxiety that was again building in his stomach was not betrayed by his voice.

“I bend my knee to the King, and only the King, Tarren. At any given time, there are no fewer than eight bodyguards within one room of His Majesty, and at all times four of those eight are Seekers.” Tarren was surprised, though he immediately questioned why. It would make sense, given everything Ran had just told him, that the King would have such a powerful cohort by his side. In fact, Tarren wondered why all eight weren’t Seekers.

“Because that would make it too easy for enemies to eliminate them. If there is uncertainty as to which guards are the most powerful, it is more difficult to plan an attack. But come, the time for talk has passed. I have told you much, Tarren Langsher,” Ran said, standing, his hands dropping almost casually to rest on the hilts of his swords. “I will not lie to you. The life I offer is not easy, nor is it sweet. There will be things asked of you, horrible and brutal things, which you will not want to do. There will be secrets that you will not want to keep. Yet you must, for the sake of the King and the peace of the Kingdom. Will you swear your allegiance here, now and forever, as a King’s man, to train, serve and protect the King and Kingdom?”

Tarren scrambled to his feet, his heart racing. He looked around helplessly, unsure of what to do, though he knew he had no real choice. Bend his knee and swear allegiance, or die. Those were his options. He thought back to the Test, his mother’s tears and his father’s pain and fear, the looks of confusion and terror on the watchers of the crowd, and to the kreston. He thought of all Ran had told him, of the powers he supposedly held, of the potential life he might lead. A tingle of excitement ran up his spine, followed closely by a foreboding shiver. Ran was right, he knew, yet it still pained him to think that now, just as his life had seemed to be beginning, he must leave everything and everyone he knew and cared about behind merely to save his own life.

“I swear,” he heard himself saying softly, barely conscious of what he was doing as he sank to his right knee, bowing his head and staring at the ground. But he looked up sharply as he heard the rasping of metal on metal as Ran drew his swords. Tarren’s eyes went wide.

“I swear! I do! Please don’t…” Tarren stammered, his heart in his mouth, but he trailed off as Ran extended his arms and crossed his wrists, the blades crossing and coming to rest gently on Tarren’s shoulders.

Don’t be afraid, son, Ran told him, continuing aloud. “You have sworn your lifelong allegiance to His Majesty, His successors, and the Kingdom. In making this commitment and bending your knee, you kneel merely a boy, yet you will rise a King’s Man. Rise, King’s Man Tarren Langsher!”

Ran finished his speech with a flourish, drawing his hands quickly towards his body and uncrossing his wrists. As he did so, Tarren felt the sharp kiss of the steel against his throat and gasped, his fingers instinctively reaching up and coming away red. Confused, he looked up at Ran, who was watching him closely, and it was only now that Tarren noticed the faint scars on Ran’s own neck. The pale, grey lines traced faintly across his throat, parallel to his jaw. The blades had been so sharp there was almost no pain, and Tarren could barely feel the small droplets of blood that ran down his neck to be soaked up by his tunic. Tarren locked eyes with Ran, and, unsure whether or not to smile, decided against it as he stood.

Tarren nearly jumped clean out of his skin when the second man dropped down beside him, landing deftly with almost no sound and clapping him on the shoulder. Looking around, Tarren was even more shocked when no fewer than eight other shapes appeared from behind trees, rocks, and bushes where he could have sworn no child, let alone a grown man, could hide.

“Welcome, kid,” the second said, grinning. His accent was uncommon, and Tarren couldn’t be certain where to place it. “Name’s…well, my name doesn’t matter. Just call me Eagle.” His grin was lopsided, and Tarren could see teeth missing, no doubt as a result of a scrap or three. His nose was hooked, and he held a bow in one hand, a quiver slipped over his shoulder bristling with arrows. Twin daggers were strapped to his legs just above his boots.

“Aye, welcome to the brotherhood, as Daggers ‘ere likes to call it. I like to think of us more as a posse, a motley crew of unlikely bedfellows who…” a third man commented, sauntering up through the trees from the direction Ran’s horse had been tethered.

“Shut it, Maul!” Ran snapped, eyes flashing as he cut off the larger man in mid-sentence. “The boy’s been through enough for the day, so let’s not lay even more on him tonight, hear?”

“Alright, alright,” Maul replied, raising his hands in surrender. “I was simply stating that we weren’t no official brotherhood or nothing, is all.” Tarren stared at him, more confused than ever. Maul was huge, easily standing almost seven feet tall, and had arms and legs as thick as tree trunks. Slung over his back was the handle of an enormous war-hammer, and he casually carried a battle-axe in his right hand. Maul’s head looked almost ridiculously small in comparison with his body, but one look at his face, despite the good-natured grin sprawling across it, told Tarren that this was one man you did not argue with. Tarren turned to look accusingly at Eagle.

“How long were you in the tree? And how did you get there?” Tarren asked him. Before Eagle could respond, Ran answered for him.

“A better question, Tarren, is how did he climb the tree while we were talking without you noticing?” Ran was right, Tarren thought. That was a better question.

“Were all these people listening the whole time we were talking?” Tarren asked, looking suspiciously at Ran.

“Yup,” said Eagle. “You don’t think we’d leave our brave leader Daggers out alone with no protection, do ya Tarren?” He reached out to tussle Tarren’s hair, but Tarren ducked and stepped out of reach.

“Well, no, but…” his confusion was back, and he was struggling to form coherent questions. Before he could pose another Maul guffawed loudly.

“Tarren, lad,” Maul said, chuckling. “I think old Dagger’s here has been less than wholly honest with ya.” Despite his enormous size, Tarren noted Maul was keeping a wary eye on Ran, who had a sour expression on his face that was only getting worse. Tarren’s mind began to race as he began to reconsider the situation and whether or not he should attempt to run. He also started to wonder where the name “Daggers” came from.

“Tarren, we do work for the King, that part was true, but,” Maul didn’t get to finish as Ran cut into his sentence.

“Fine!” Ran spat, his temper reaching the boiling point. He glowered at Maul, who seemed to shrink even further away. “But I’ll tell him. You’re not exactly known for, how shall we say it? Your diplomatic skills.”

This prompted another loud guffaw and quieter chuckling from the others standing in the group. Tarren looked around at the gathered men, his eyes automatically finding the various weapons they all carried. Sighing audibly with exasperation, Ran turned towards him.

“You see, Tarren,” Ran said, seeming to struggle to find the right words, “what I told you remains true, but the King has many kinds of elite guards or warriors at his disposal.” Maul barked a laugh, thought better of it, and tried to stop himself, and what resulted sounded more like a dry heave than humour. Ran’s glower darkened as he continued. “Our, ‘posse’ I think was the term used, is of a certain kind. Eagle has certain Talents, as do the others, each one a unique skill in addition to his Talent. This is not magic, just good soldiery, such as deftness with a blade, or expert marksmanship with a bow, stuff like that. Some are incredibly sneaky,” and Ran glanced at Eagle as he said this.

“We’re assassins, Tarren. Perhaps one of the most important components of the King’s army. We collect information, gather items and steal war plans, but our most important purpose is to silence those who must be silenced without obvious action by His Majesty. We are the long, dark hand of the King’s army, his most trusted soldiers, and his most deadly. We saw in you today the kind of power only a few Seekers truly possess, even if you don’t, even if you assume that most Seekers could do what you did. And some could. But there is more that we saw, and much we can teach you.”

Ran extended his hand, offering it to Tarren not as a man to a child, but as a man to a man. Tarren stared at it, looked up, and then glanced anxiously around at the group of assassins. At Eagle, with his bow now slung casually over one shoulder, at the hulking mass that was Maul and the war-hammer he wore on his back, and at the others, each of whom bore scars and weapons that spoke of many battles and hard-earned victories. None of these men had gotten to where they were today without much hardship, and at that moment Tarren had a mind to run, to attempt to flee and never look back. His parents had to take him back, didn’t they? Uncertainty washed over him, and then turned to fear as he looked again at Ran’s face which had grown hard as stone, those cold blue eyes a sharp contrast in a granite mask.

“You swore an oath, son. You have seen our faces. You know the only choices that you now have,” and as he spoke, Ran hand dropped to one of his shortswords. The harsh rasp of steel on steel echoed around the circle as other blades were drawn, and Tarren’s stomach turned over.

“I have not forgotten, Ran. I am a man of my word,” he forced himself to speak, though his tongue felt as though it were wrapped in a heavy woolen sock for lack of spit. There was a noticeable relaxation that flowed through the group, each man seeming to grow softer as Tarren spoke. “I will join you, as I pledged to do, and to serve my King and Kingdom.”

“Good,” Ran said, smiling, though his eyes remained hard. Metal sang again as weapons returned to their scabbards, and Maul clapped Tarren on the shoulder, almost knocking him to the ground.

“Like I said, welcome aboard,” he said, and turned to lumber back to where Ran’s horse was tethered. One by one, the others followed Maul, melting into the shadows between the trees and Tarren quickly lost track of them. He looked at Ran.

I know you’re scared, son. We will teach you what you need to know. Now come with us, and we’ll look at those wounds. Ran turned and disappeared as the others had, moving towards his horse. Tarren stood for a second, not knowing what to do, confusion and fear still clouding his mind. He could still run, could turn now and head back into town. The King’s men couldn’t, wouldn’t, follow him into town would they? Kill him in his own home with his parents in the house? Deep down, he had a nasty feeling they could and would do just that, and that they wouldn’t think twice before doing it.

Tarren thought about Maul’s hammer, about Eagle’s arrows, about Ran’s eyes and how they burned that deep ice-fire which bespoke of a cold, calculating man despite any personable façade he may present to the contrary. But most of all Tarren thought of his Test, of the looks of fear and confusion from his friends and family, of his terror and his own confusion as he had entered the mind of the kreston, and of what it meant to have passed the Test. The kreston hadn’t won. He had defeated it, even without dealing the killing stroke himself. Passing his Test made him a man, and he had made an oath as a man.

Tarren thought back to one day training with his father, when at the end his father had told him that regardless of what Talent a man possessed, he was only ever as good as his word. Tarren had given his word to Ran, in front of the others, and he could not, would not, break that oath. Slowly, his stomach tight with fear and his arm and ankle still throbbing from the wounds, Tarren took a deep breath and began walking in the direction Ran and the others had gone. He walked away from the life he had known as a boy and towards the unknown life that awaited him. He did not take one final look back.

- The End -