The Way of the Shadow Blade, Chapter XVII: Schism

The Way of the Shadow Blade, Chapter XVII: Schism

XVII: Schism

Aruna fought to maintain her balance with the new, heavy scythe-like weapon called a pole arm. "Let the counterweight work for you!" Kirian called. "You'll feel it catch hold when you hold the pole arm blade-up and horizontal. This is not a weapon to be managed by brute strength--do that and you'll tire in minutes!" Rue drew in a deep breath and exhaled slowly as she brought the weapon to a state of motionlessness. "Good," said Kirian. "Don't hurry this. Test the effects of changes in angle. Put in no effort other than what you need to lock it in position. Keep the blade well away from your body for now, facing straight up. Now--let it fall." The counterweight swept the pole arm counterclockwise until the weapon stood perfectly vertical. "That's not really a striking maneuver--more to recover your position afterwards, and to teach you balance."

After Rue experimented for another few minutes, Kirian commanded her to halt. She strode behind Rue, placing her hand on Rue's back near her shoulders. "Again," Kirian commanded, and Aruna repeated the series of practice maneuvers. Once concluded, Kirian asked, "Aruna, are you afraid? I feel you tensing when the counterweight gains speed--you're fighting against it. Especially at your size, it's critical that you conserve your strength. We can't make the pole arm any lighter."

"I'm a bit uneasy," Rue reluctantly conceded. "It's hard to start on the first day with a real blade. I keep feeling like I'm going to lose control."

"I see," Kirian replied, her tone unchanged. "Then we ought to start somewhere else. I'd suggest you first learn to pray while the pole arm is in your hands...to be still and let the Spirit enter into you even as you feel its weight. Let His guidance put you at ease." When Rue's response was slow in coming, Kirian added, "There's nothing to be ashamed of, Aruna. A master archer like Erik goes through the same process every day he picks up the bow, even with many years of experience--no blind man could hope to do what he does without it. And sometimes the same is necessary with other weapons."

"It's a little disappointing not to start right in like I did with the sword," Rue admitted, and her ears burned upon hearing the words that had escaped her mouth.

Kirian sighed. "You have a special talent with the sword, Aruna. Did you know that your grandfather struggled with it sometimes? For him, to be a warrior is his second calling, not his first, and it was hard for him to realize that the arts of war wouldn't come to him as easily as the arts of the mind. But do what he did--don't convince yourself that what doesn't come easily isn't worth pursuing." Aruna smiled to herself as she thought how much that statement resembled something Thorn, their shared mentor, might have said. She thought of the pride that Grandfather Michael took in his ability to fight. Even though he often lost to his comrades, she remembered from before her blindness how he'd always returned to their quarters winded and disheveled--but grinning ear to ear. "This may not be your true specialty," Kirian continued, "but as I've told you before, it's good for a small warrior to have a weapon to extend her reach. We're still considering a specialty for you, and we're hoping to teach you something this enclave hasn't had in a long time...but no promises. There are still a few loose ends to be tied up before we can commit. Now, why don't we break for today and start fresh next time?"

Rue gladly assented, then loosened her blindfold and slid it down to hang around her neck. It had been nearly two months since Rue had discovered the complete loss of her sight. While it still felt foreign to remove her blindfold in surroundings she knew to be lit, she at least felt more like a Guardian than ever before--no longer the child playing a very serious game that Vargos, now Morgan, had once accused her of being. Her ears then caught the sound of two welcome voices moving towards the sparring room where advanced weapons lessons were taught--they were the voices of Grandfather Michael and Thorn. "I think it's time," she heard Thorn gravely declare, "now that...the greatest risk is no more."

The Elder indicated his agreement and then called a greeting to Rue and Kirian. "Rue," he said, "we were thinking you'll be one of the twelve to go into the Village during the Conference." The idea was that with so many rulers or their ambassadors convening at the Keep, the twelve selected Guardians would go out into Erchandemur Village in ceremonial dress to fly the flag, so to speak. These twelve would be the only Guardians seen outside the Keep, for the enclave had no wish to reveal its full numbers to those not sworn to silence on it as were the Keep's permanent residents--nor for it to be obvious that Erchandemur Keep was indeed their home. Had the Conference been held elsewhere, the nearest enclave would have sent the same number of Guardians.

"I would be honored," Aruna replied with a touch of surprise, for her trips away from the grounds of the Keep had been rare and always under the supervision of at least one senior Guardian, usually two--bodyguards in case a blood-mage might have discovered Rue's location. "Are you sure about this?" she asked in spite of the thrill that rushed through her at the idea of her first real mission.

"I promise to explain everything once the talks are over," Grandfather Michael replied, "but there won't be much time for that in these next few weeks--or months, perhaps...I may have to teach some of my classes in the evenings with all of this going on." The great Conference at Erchandemur would be joined by the rulers of the other two Aramansch provinces--Simon II of Holautren and Talich of Kohreiren--and envoys from the other three nations of the Aramansch League as well as from Arkuen, Reústma, Eredvaard, Beraya, Khodar, and Iskedr. Each visiting ruler or ambassador would bring an entourage of aides and guards--and this, as the incident at the Church Synod in Knaleiren had proven, could be problematic at times of tension such as these. While diplomats slit each other's throats with subtle, plausibly-deniable word games, it was often the unbridled aggression of young soldiers that revealed the true feelings of nation towards nation. As the bonds between nations deteriorated further, it was all the more important that such incidents be prevented. Aruna shivered when she considered the idea of Eredvaard and Arkuen at the same table, and contemplated the great unknowns of Khodar and Iskedr.



The air rang with life in the great town still affectionately known as Erchandemur Village--each twist and turn brought with it the sounds of merchants hawking their produce and livestock at the Market Square, or the shouts of young boys paid to call out the latest news: a new party arrived from the northern land of Arkuen, exotic, cloaked soldiers of Khodar with wickedly-serrated blades hanging naked at their sides, a wandering troupe of performers drawn by the gathering at the Keep, and more. Incense from the church mingled with the earthy scent of the butcher's wares and the scent of human haste hung heavy in the air, cleared away in an instant by a breeze and replaced in a matter of seconds. Every so often a different kind of breeze swished past Aruna as townsmen or travelers hurried past her, their paces either quickening or slowing as they realized what they had just encountered: a pair of Guardians in the flesh, blindfolded and in ceremonial robes.

Grandfather Michael, who had thought it best that they travel together given his age and Aruna's inexperience, turned to Rue as the wind carried to him a whiff of wine, beer, and assorted spirits. He remarked in what she now thought of as a grinning tone, "Now that's the scent of childhood!" Rue gave a light laugh at the ideas any eavesdropper might get about Michael Filippei's boyhood, even as it occurred to her that the scent of strong drink was a bit too medicinal for her liking. Filipp, Grandfather Michael's father, had owned an inn and tavern in the town of Garidael, a day's ride from Erchandemur Village.

Aruna remembered how Grandfather Michael had described his early days spent carefully picking out a path among Filipp's guests, listening intently for any exciting news they might bring from afar. The boy had felt an absence, though, for no boy his own age would play with him. Sometimes he would talk with their older brothers and sisters, who were more easily able to follow his musings and better able to describe to him the parts of the world that his four senses could tell him nothing about. But that hadn't been the same as laughing and playing the way he heard the other boys his age in Garidael. Those who had come of age already would take one look into his obviously sightless eyes and assume that a child like him might barely even know how to speak--only to be shocked when he asked questions in his tiny voice that they would have expected of children four or five years his senior at the least. Some of the more superstitious among them had mistaken him for a creature from another world whose powers and allegiance were unknown--and better left alone. Others had pitied him; he remembered very clearly how an aged widow had gushed sympathetic platitudes in his presence to his father, as if at the appearance of a wounded animal: "That poor little thing, having to go through life with those eyes...I'm so sorry, Filipp."

The four-year-old Michael had stunned her by replying with diction almost as clear as an adult's, "Ma'am, I'm right here, and I don't feel like a 'poor thing.'" His father's grip had tightened on his arm--but when the verbal warning he usually got for speaking out of turn didn't come, Michael had realized that Father was secretly proud of his son even if as a tavern-keeper he dared not show it in front of a woman of such age and status.

One evening, a pair of travelers from Reústma had stopped to rest for a few days at the inn. Speaking almost no Aramansch, the pair had struggled with the basics of asking for a room and dinner, and understanding how much they owed. Fascinated by the soft, foreign sounds of their speech, Michael had tagged along with them to listen, staying just far enough away to avoid a lecture from Father or one of the guests about being underfoot. After the pair had finished eating, Michael had shyly approached them and, armed with a few phrases he'd gleaned from their attempts to communicate with their hosts, he had started to ask how things were said in Reúhel. Surprised at the child's accent, which came closer for a first try than theirs had in weeks of trying to speak Aramansch, they gladly began to teach and learn from him. Perhaps, Michael had wondered, no man of their own age had shown them any patience with their stumbling efforts--and, he had admitted, there was likely a certain fascination with him thanks to his blindness. Still, Michael fondly remembered how the travelers would place an object in his hands and speak their word for it. When the boy repeated correctly, they then asked one of the few questions they knew in Aramansch: "How you say?" The travelers caught on to something remarkable--that unlike them, Michael might struggle with the sound of a new word but rarely confused what he meant to say, even if he heard it but once.

Filipp had aided further in the teaching process when he tried to draw out the travelers' story on the second night. The pair resorted to gestures and signs to communicate with Filipp as they spoke almost entirely in their native language. Between Filipp's interpretation of their signing, which he would describe to Michael as best as he could, and his son's rapidly-expanding Reúhel vocabulary, they determined that there had been two others with the travelers--religious pilgrims, it seemed, who had taken ill in Boenmar and died. One of the dead men had been their interpreter and guide. Michael never forgot what they had told Father as they prepared to leave the next morning. "The boy...the boy--" Here Michael had grinned, for he had taught them that word! "Talk Reúhel--two night!" Michael had also taught the two how to count up to twenty, something sure to help them manage their remaining money as they continued their long journey home.

Though the travelers exaggerated, the event had brought Filipp to a realization--that Michael desperately needed an education. Filipp begged the teachers at Garidael's school to accept his younger son, but the teachers had laughed as they replied, "A blind boy? The son of a tavern-keeper? Impossible!" Even the account of Michael's feats with the travelers did nothing to convince them to try.

Michael had finally asked his father directly, "Why can't I go to school like Farin?"

Never had Filipp sounded so defeated as when he had replied, "Because you have to read books and write...and you can't do those if you can't see. I'm so sorry, Michael...you deserve so much better..." For his father's sake he'd hidden his sorrow until Filipp left the room, and then for the first time he had cried bitterly at at the God who had clouded his eyes. His older brother, Farin, had discovered him weeping and when he heard the story, he had immediately stormed out of the room and told their father that unless he kept trying to find Michael a teacher, he would refuse his own lessons.

Filipp had not needed this urging. Finally word came from the priest of Erchandemur Village that he knew of someone who might consider Michael. The instant Filipp had laid eyes on the priest's guest, he had knelt down and scooped his son up into his embrace, exclaiming, "Oh my God, Michael, a real Guardian!" Michael remembered the legends his father had spoken of, of the great blind warriors that protected Erekjaht against godless blood-mages, and his heart had leaped...could they be true? He had set a hand upon his father's cheek to sense his expression, and even as his father smiled, a tear had fallen onto Michael's hand.

This Guardian was none other than the Elder Kestrel, who had taken Michael in his lap and explained what would be expected of him. To Michael's immense delight, the impressed Elder Kestrel had promised advanced studies that "certainly" for him would rival that of a university. Afraid this beautiful dream would unravel, Michael had warily asked, "But Rukei Katurje, don't I need books to learn?" Filipp had made a tiny choking sound at that.

"Do you have a good set of ears, son, and a brave spirit?" the Elder Kestrel had asked. "That's all you need." Filipp, also disbelieving, had asked how much payment the Guardian expected. "Nothing, Rukei Filipp...this is both my duty and a pleasure." Filipp could no longer hide his tears from the Elder Kestrel and the priest as he wept aloud with joy.

Aruna thought in that moment to ask Grandfather Michael something about Kestrel, but there came a most inopportune clamor of irate voices and a faint undercurrent of weeping from not too far back. Both Guardians whirled around towards the source. "Pardon us!" the Elder Guardian called in a polite tone that brooked no refusal. The arguing voices separated into words in Eredvaardian and Shinsayeh, with a number of Aramansch calling out insults and exclamations. They had been right not to leave the matter to the town constable, Aruna thought. These were most certainly part of ambassadors' entourages. "Ta vasjas itan!" Michael ordered the crowd--be silent! Most of them complied as he whispered to Rue, "Go find out the lady's story."

"Ma'am," Aruna asked in a low voice as she approached the weeping woman, "What have these men done to upset you?" No response came at first. "Please don't be afraid of us...we're here to help."

Behind her Rue heard the Elder command, "Sit down!" in Aramansch, then, "Dhau eitrai tjaal!" in High Arkettisch and "Satohhk!" in Shinsayeh, all three in an irritated, authoritative tone that sounded more like Thorn or Amargo, or even Kirian, than his usual self. The Shinsayeh-speaker's robes and cloak shifted as he grudgingly complied; the tip of his exposed sword scraped against the stone of the tavern wall as he sat.

"N-nenei Katurje," came the woman's whisper, "that man--the one nearest to you," the Shinsayeh-speaker, Rue surmised, "--he came out of the tavern and grabbed me by the arm as though I were a harlot! He started yelling...I couldn't understand a word, but he kept pointing at my feet and head--then the big guy in fur drew his sword and came rushing at us. I thought he and the other were going to have a duel right on the street! Then you two showed up..." At that point she fell silent to collect her thoughts.

"Thank you so much," Rue whispered with a smile, and then whistled lightly to the Elder Guardian. When he had turned to her, she relayed the woman's story. He then began a long string of accusations in Shinsayeh, judging from the tone, to which the soldier raised fierce objections.

"I don't care!" the Elder snapped in Aramansch before switching back to Shinsayeh. Shortly after that, he started addressing the Eredvaardian, whom he had discovered spoke some Aramansch and understood quite a bit more. "So you saw what was happening and sought a duel, is that it?"

"How I watch dog touch lady like that?" the Eredvaardian growled. "We never do thing like this in Eredvaard--men die for this! Ask Guardian-woman cut his throat--he pay with his life!"

"I don't like what he did either--but you are on Aramansch soil and while you are here, our laws are your laws and you must obey them! Here we try a man before putting him to death! As it is, because his commanding general is at the Keep, he'll be punished by his people."

The Eredvaardian turned and spat in derision. "Khodar-general never do nothing, Guardian--this mean nothing with them!"

"Perhaps not, but Rukei Hathlof, there is ale on his breath. They'll at least punish him for drunkenness. And if the general is wise, he won't be permitted in the Village after this. I want him tried in our court as badly as you want an honor duel, but this is the best we can get. I'll let you go now on one condition: do not draw your sword in public again or you'll be facing your commander." That threat carried a great deal of weight, Aruna knew, as sometimes Eredvaardian officers flogged soldiers who misbehaved. "Do I have your word?"

"My word of honor," Hathlof replied.

"Now go," the Elder Guardian sternly commanded. "I give you my word of honor I'll do all I can."

As Hathlof sulked his way back towards the tavern, the Elder and Aruna each restrained one of the Khodari soldier's arms; the Khodari hissed and jerked away at Rue's touch, and the Elder snapped something that likely meant, "Don't try my patience, young man!" After that the soldier grudgingly submitted to be led to the Keep, growing more and more sullen as he saw the Guardians' accuracy in navigating the crowd and remaining on the path.

"He speaks no Aramansch; he won't understand us," Grandfather Michael said softly. "Do you know why he did that? It was her bare feet and uncovered face, and once he was drunk he could no longer restrain himself. The women of unbaptized families wear something like a mask made of what feels like sailcloth around any men outside their family--it hides their faces and makes it hard for them to speak clearly...like muzzling an animal! Your student's mother--" he guarded the name lest the soldier know of the price on Amhekhet's head "--packed one as a reminder of why she left. God...it turned my stomach to touch that malformed thing. She wanted me to see what she'd lived with, but it was all I could do not to fling it into the fire to burn."

Rue fought to suppress a shudder. "What a horrid place--if I didn't know what a good man Dad was, I'd be ashamed to have his blood in me!"

"Some men sincerely try to change things in Khodar and Iskedr," Grandfather Michael said. "Your paternal grandfather did...but even his talents weren't enough and they banished him--and that because they were afraid to kill him." He paused. "I'm sorry to see that Tularmak would bring a man like this to Erekjaht." The Khodari flinched at the sound of his commander's name. "He knows very well that sort of uncivilized behavior is against our laws. I think Tularmak is a reformer...but this tells me there simply aren't enough of the baptized, or unbaptized reformers, to make a real difference there."



Throughout the following weeks, Grandfather Michael and Thorn summoned the Guardians to meetings each evening to apprise them of the political situation across Erekjaht. Rue had asked Thorn once why Erik, the enclave's second-eldest, did not take a leadership role in affairs of strategy that could have wide-sweeping implications throughout Araman. "Do not mistake his role as a teacher for a weak or unimportant one," the strategist warned her. "My choices matter in the here and now--his make sure we have a future. The children whose lives Erik touches are forever changed because of him; you've been there yourself. But for a little blind boy or girl, Erik not only teaches them in combat--he shows them what a happy, successful life children like them can grow up to have. Some of them spend their early childhood hearing all about how helpless and burdensome they'll be for the rest of their lives...to show a blind child that needn't be true requires just as much of a man as saving a life on the battlefield, and is just as praiseworthy."

The news reported to the enclave was not good. Reústma and the Eredvaardian colony of Gehraeth continued to fight, and even as the Reúhel navy gained the upper hand and their ground forces prepared to board ships to take the great island itself, the generals of Gehraeth had refused offer after offer of honorable surrender. The Reúhel and Eredvaardian ambassadors, with heavy hearts, quarreled themselves to an impasse. It was clear that Ambassador Kaulein wanted very much to accept Reústma's terms, but would be put to death by his king if he spoke the words.

The Berayan Civil War raged on and reports of Berayan troops sending raiding parties into Kahlem to steal livestock and crops for their war effort increased. The alliance between Beraya, Onaya, and Alinar--once collectively known as Beraya--was clearly beyond repair, and the fact that the fighting continued in such a futile situation only further enraged the Kahlemsch envoy. Ambassador Klement delivered a stiff warning to the Berayan monarchy to get their armies under control at once, stating that "if not, we will have restitution one way or the other--either your king will pay damages for each raid or we will be obliged to consider stronger measures." Regardless of the Berayan king's response, it was plain that the trust between the former allies was in tatters.

The situation grew more and more dire in Boenmar to Araman's south, where the Istaltic Alliance now threatened to strike their nation's heart--the Boenmarsch had been fending off Istaltic raiding parties as far north as the capital city of Verchen. If the Istaltic flag were raised over the ramparts of Verchen, even if the royal family escaped to lead a resistance from elsewhere, Boenmar would officially be a conquered nation under Sarganessi II of Seratis. Ambassador Lahxen, haunted by what he'd seen, had fought tears as he begged the Aramansch kings to accept refugees from his country, for in desperation some Boenmarsch families had begun sending their women and children to the northern border with the territories of Erchandemur.

Here Thorn had called for a private audience with Lahxen and the Aramansch kings, as well as the ambassador of Brichtal. There he had revealed his misgivings about the Boenmarsch plan: "Dare we promise safe harbor for your families when we know it's our nation the Istallans want the most? Better to grant them passage under our guard to Brichtal, lest we hand them right back to the enemy. If we have the aid of Holautren and Kohreiren, we can accomplish this--otherwise our border and our homes will go unguarded." The kings of Araman and even Ambassador Lahxen had conceded the wisdom of the Guardian's plan, and Ambassador Tojvel of Brichtal agreed to send a courier immediately to his queen in Knaleiren with his personal endorsement of the plan.

What no one at the Conference could understand was the incredible strength of the Istaltic armies. There were strange rumors of things terribly awry in Boenmar: inexplicably confounded messages between Boenmarsch battle commanders, freak accidents and acts of nature, and more. One report from the fledgling Boenmarsch enclave of Guardians described the appearance of an invisible soldier in a Boenmarsch camp. A Guardian had dueled with the dreadful spectre and discovered it to be quite mortal: "A blood-mage," Thorn concluded. "They must have been sabotaging Boenmar's war effort all this time. Whether they've made it across the Rift into the Istaltic States in force, we can't determine because the Istallans have rejected the Order ever since they withdrew from the Synod. A covert mission is being organized between us and our brothers in Boenmar to determine that as best as we can...but one thing is evident: the blood-mages want the Alliance to subdue Boenmar completely and strike next directly at Araman."