Ami returned to her place beside Gustor.
The process repeated with Skyve. “Skyve Ferderick Lagat. Do you accept the responsibilities as Xen of the Eight, Advisor, to fight for and serve your people and your Creator?”
When Skyve came back with his brilliant sword, it was Rikky’s turn. “Rikayis Del Iserwood. Do you accept the responsibilities as Shive of the Eight, Soldier, to fight for and serve your people and your Creator?”
It kept going. Kae, Orrah of the Eight, Friend. Ki, Quoye of the Eight, Mediator. Terindi, Hyrru of the Eight, Supporter. Finally, Wylan, Werrin of the Eight, Marshal. Until she was the only one without a sword, still glued to her spot beside Yhkon, trying not to cling to his crutch the way she wanted to.
“Talea, please step forward.”
She must have obeyed, because she found herself on the stage facing the crowd, standing rather than kneeling, as Yhkon had told her. A sea of unfamiliar faces stared back at her, countless pairs of eyes watching her every move.
Except, not all the faces were unfamiliar. She could pick out her family—tears in Seles’ eyes, Loestin holding her hand, Naylen’s arm around Brenly; apparently they were courting now. Alili with a small smile, observing everything with those big brown eyes that held depth and understanding beyond her years. There were the Wardens’ families. The Falstons, Yhkon’s adopted parents of sorts.
And there was Ahjul’s family. She had only ever met his sister Pear, but she knew the five men with her and the middle-aged couple must be his older brothers and his parents. His mother was crying.
He should be here. Talea bit the inside of her cheek as Enisham started. “Talereinna Gen Andul. Narone has chosen you for a very special purpose. It is not to be taken lightly, nor as something you have earned. This is an honor. You must use it to serve your people, not to lord over them.”
Her head bobbed in terrified agreement.
“Then do you accept the responsibilities of Eun, Aysa of the San Quawr?”
At first she thought she’d already answered, and the blood pulsing in her ears had just drowned it out. Yet he was still looking expectantly at her. Talea cleared her throat and licked her dry lips, cast a quick glance over her shoulder at Yhkon. This is for Ahjul, for Yhkon’s family, for Wylan’s. “I do.”
Mahzin picked up the final shimmering sword from the rack and offered it to her. Kneeling, she took it carefully, hoping her trembling wasn’t conspicuous. The weapon was beautiful, similar to Yhkon’s, except with foreign words engraved along the blade. Heart pounding, she lifted her gaze back to Mahzin as he smiled at her and gestured for her to rise. “Rise, Aysa of the San Quawr.” His brown eyes held hers for a long moment, and he added in an undertone, “And lead us to peace.”
~♦~
Kaydor stood at the fence of the arena, observing the duel taking place within. Neither the trainer nor the trainee had noticed him, but that was fine. It might affect their performance if they knew their king was present.
The older of the two, a lean man with a harsh and permanent scowl, was experienced. There would be no reckless swings or poorly calculated moves from him. The younger was far from experienced. But he was something else, something better...he was a natural. His movements were fluid. This wasn’t a strenuous chore for him, it was a dance. Yet his strength was just as obvious as his agility.
Mere months of training, and the lad would be a worthy opponent for any warrior.
The duel eventually ended without a winner, simply practice. Only then did Kaydor make his presence known. “Zoper! Come walk with me.”
Spotting him with a smile, Zoper set aside his practice sword, and jogged to the fence, smoothly sliding over to join him. “Zoper,” Kaydor put a hand on his nephew’s shoulder as they started walking, “do you remember that elite band of warriors I told you about, that I’m putting together? The Tarragon?”
Zoper yawned, in a typical demonstration of his perpetual nonchalance. “Vaguely. Doesn’t tarragon mean ‘dragon’, in...well...in some language?”
“Yes, in old Zentyren. The Tarragon will be an aerial unit when necessary, and I want them to symbolize the throne, too...to be the face of Zentyre’s power, you might say.”
“Mm-hmm.” Not really paying attention, as usual.
Kaydor hid his sigh. There was a long way to go in correcting Zoper’s passiveness. That he had been right, and the boy was a born fighter, however, had already been proven. It had been six months since Zoper and his siblings had come to live in the castle, and he was already excelling remarkably in his training. Which was good—that was what Kaydor needed. There had been no sign of the San Quawr rebels for weeks, and he suspected they’d returned to their secret hideaway. But that just meant they would be preparing.
When they returned, he would be equally prepared. “As such...I want you to be their captain.”
Now he had Zoper’s attention. Those lazy blue eyes snapped to his. “Umm...I’ve only been training a few months.”
“And you’ve already advanced much faster than most. I’m not saying you have to lead a battle tomorrow.” He gave his nephew a smile and a pat on the shoulder. “Some of the men I’m choosing for the Tarragon are more experienced, yes, but others are young and new like you. You’re all going to train together. I won’t officially make you captain until you’ve had the opportunity to prove yourself to them...but I have every confidence in you.”
Zoper wrinkled his nose. “I suppose that should be flattering.”
Rolling his eyes, Kaydor whacked his arm. “Yes, it should be. Now listen. This is important. You and the Tarragon will be the best in Zentyre, and my right-arm in the war.”
“Uhh...war?”
“Yes.” He stopped walking, to look Zoper in the eye. “The San Quawr rebels will be back, and there will be a war. When that happens, you will be the one to defeat them.”