15
VALEK
Valek was pleased with the morning’s matches. Ari and Janco once again proved why they were his seconds-in-command and Onora revealed quite a bit about herself. Gerik hadn’t been lying when he claimed to be good at fighting. He hadn’t won a match, but, then again, he’d been fighting the best in Valek’s corps. And he’d picked the wrong weapons against those two. Next time, Valek would suggest Gerik choose the bo staff against Ari and hand to hand against Janco.
What impressed him the most about Gerik was the man kept his cool during both bouts. Something Onora struggled with. He’d also confirmed that the two of them at least knew each other. Ah, the plot thickened. And more reasons to take a trip to MD-2.
According to the Commander’s detail, they’d followed security protocol to the letter the night Onora attacked and Gerik had not been on duty. Valek was certain the intel Gerik provided to Onora helped her avoid the sweeps.
No. The real problem lay in the protocol and why the security team hadn’t noticed the gaps. Valek had read it that morning and spotted the lapses right away. Alarming, since Maren had written the new protocols while Valek had been in Sitia.
And he didn’t like where his thoughts led. Perhaps Maren had done it on purpose because of the Commander’s request. Perhaps this had all been a test, including Onora’s timely arrival. All of which Valek had failed.
As for the reason for the test, the Commander might be feeling vulnerable. Maybe Onora sneaked into the Commander’s suite before Valek had returned and they’d worked out a deal.
Regardless of why the Commander had tested him, Valek would not let anyone else write the protocols or assign members to the Commander’s detail again. He’d start fresh with a new group. Although he’d still like to talk to Maren. Where was she?
He returned to his office to finish a few things before his trip north. Reviewing personnel files and writing instructions on how to patrol a castle failed to keep Valek’s mind from wandering. There had been no clue as to what mission Maren had been given and that irked him. Was finding Maren another test?
Valek was very familiar with tests. When he had moved from hand-to-hand combat to dueling with weapons at Hedda’s school, the older students and instructors had tested his new skills at random intervals. He’d learned to sleep with a weapon in each of his hands.
He’d learned how to fight with different types of swords, bo staffs and a number of other sharp implements and nasty-looking devices, but fighting with a knife was his favorite. He loved getting up close and personal with his opponent, despite the drawbacks, like finding out Arbon sprinkled too much garlic in his food. And he loved how the blade was a deadly extension of his hand. Soon no one could beat him in a knife fight.
Hedda’s threat hadn’t been serious. No way he could master all the weapons within ten days. That would have been impossible. It was closer to ten months, and during that time Valek had turned fourteen.
Near the end of the ten-month span and at the start of the heating season, Hedda led him into a room. Weapons hung on the walls and a mat covered the floor. An unarmed man stood in the center. He wore the same clothes as Hedda, a light green tunic and loose pants. No boots.
Valek turned to her. “Another test?”
She smiled. “Yes.” Hedda gestured to the assortment of weapons. “Use as many as you like. The goal is simple. If you can draw Jorin’s blood, you win.”
Sounded easy enough. Valek pulled two knives from the wall and tucked a couple of daggers into his belt. He faced Jorin. The man remained relaxed with his arms at his sides. Still unarmed. Hedda watched from the doorway.
“Whenever you’re ready, Valek,” she said.
He suspected a trick and that he was about to get trounced by this man. A lesson in how weapons made you lazy and gave you false confidence. Or something like that.
Valek nodded to the man and assumed a fighting stance. He shuffled close and attacked, slashing at the man’s throat with his left hand and stabbing at his stomach with his right. Jorin twisted, grabbed both Valek’s wrists and yanked him forward, ramming Valek with his knee before tossing him aside.
Valek scrambled to his feet as pain radiated from his ribs. No doubt Jorin had more training and experience than Valek. Determined, Valek rushed him again and ended up on his back again.
New strategy. Valek flipped his knives over, grabbed the blades and threw one a second after the other. A stickiness brushed his skin as both knives veered, missing Jorin by inches.
Interesting. Valek yanked a sword from the wall. Best to keep away from this guy. He approached and encountered a heavy thickness as if he’d walked into an invisible spiderweb. Odd. But not as odd as the surprise on Jorin’s face as Valek lunged with his sword. What else did he expect? It wasn’t like Valek hid the weapon behind his back.
Jorin countered in time, but he scrambled to keep ahead of Valek’s strikes, which had slowed because of that strange sticky pressure. Too bad his blade couldn’t cut through the invisible strands.
Eventually, Valek nicked Jorin’s arm and Hedda ended the oddest match Valek had ever fought.
“Jorin, I told you to use magic on him,” Hedda said.
The man pressed a cloth to his bleeding cut. “I did.”
“All of it?” she asked.
“I couldn’t read his thoughts or manipulate them. He broke through the shield and I couldn’t stop his charge. Nothing worked.”
“Wait, magic?” Valek asked.
“Yes,” Hedda snapped. “You need to learn how to fight a magician. How else can you...?” She gaped at him.
Confused, Valek glanced at Jorin. “You’re a magician?”
“Yes.”
“That’s why the knives missed. You used magic.”
“Yes.”
“Is that why...?” Valek brushed his face. The feeling of cobwebs still tingled on his skin.
“Why what?” Jorin asked.
“Why the air was sticky?”
Jorin exchanged a look with Hedda.
“Try it again,” she said.
Turning his brown-eyed gaze on Valek, Jorin’s brow creased. A wave of thick air engulfed him, clinging to his clothes.
“Is this how magic feels?” he asked, moving his arms around.
“You shouldn’t feel anything,” Jorin said. “You should be frozen solid, unable to move a muscle.”
The magic pressed on him, slowing him down but not stopping him. He walked toward the magician. The soupy syrup thickened, but he pressed on and reached Jorin.
Sweat beaded the man’s forehead. He released a breath and the air returned to normal. “Nothing works on him.”
“So that means...” Delight danced in her eyes. “He’s immune to magic. And he might be the one to assassinate the King.”
“I will assassinate the King,” Valek corrected. While he was unsure what this immunity meant, there never was any doubt about the King.
“I’ve never heard of anyone being immune. How long have you had this?” Jorin asked him.
“I don’t know. My grandfather was the only magician in my family, but he died years ago. Other than him, I really haven’t been around any magicians.”
“How about that sticky feeling? Have you felt it before?” Hedda asked.
Valek searched his memory. “Once when I waited on your stoop. During our talk, I felt a brief touch.”
“Ah, that’s why Colette couldn’t get a read on you. We thought it was due to the trauma.”
Trauma. What a nice concise word for such ugliness and pain.
Hedda shook her head as if she still couldn’t believe it. “And here I thought this would be a surprise lesson for you and contain your cockiness. It was a surprise all right.” She blew out a breath. “Well, now, King Killer, more good news. I’m going to personally see to your training.”
Uncertain what it meant to be Hedda’s student, Valek decided to focus on her inflection instead. Before when she called him King Killer, it was a tease, like calling a small man big. Now her tone implied a matter-of-factness. That he liked very much.
Hedda’s training included the usual sparring matches and mind-numbing repetition until he could perform a move in his sleep. However, he finally was learning the art of being an assassin, reading body language, picking locks, studying poisons, climbing buildings and lying without giving himself away.
“Remind me not to play poker with you, King Killer,” Hedda joked one night after he’d convinced the cook that Arbon had spilled the soup even though white cream spotted Valek’s pants.
When Valek had been at the school for almost two years, Hedda declared he was ready. He was fifteen years old. A mix of pride and unease swirled in his chest as he entered her office. Would she assign him a mark? Hedda not only trained assassins, but she was the go-between for many of her former students, taking half the assassination fees for her services.
However, the bigger question was, could he kill a man who hadn’t been a party to his brothers’ murders?
“I’ve a job for you, King Killer,” Hedda said. “Think you can handle it?”
He straightened. “Yes.”
“Good. You’re the new stable boy for the Icefaren Garrison.”
Not quite what he’d been expecting. “Who’s the mark?”
“No one.”