her own still-sheathed sword. The thock of blade on wooden scabbard echoed in the empty courtyard. Hope continued from her dodge into a roll, twisting as she did into a protective crouch, and brought her sheathed sword up to guard herself.
Crunta stood before her, his sword raised, blocking her way to the gate. No doubt he had lagged behind the others, suspecting the grandteacher’s loyalty to Hope went deep enough that he would help her escape. Of all the brothers, he had been one of the most cruel. Because she was a girl? Because she was a servant? It didn’t really matter.
But she had sworn to Grandteacher Hurlo that she would not confront her brothers.
“Let me pass, Crunta.”
“Do not think because you have been playing at battle in the midnight hours with a foolish old man that you are a match for me. Throw down your toy sword and return to the temple for judgment, or I will leave your pretty guts strewn across the flagstones.”
“Toy sword?” Hope slowly straightened from her crouch. “I know it is dark and the moonlight is faint, but do you truly not recognize this blade?” She held it out horizontally, one hand on the sheath, one on the handle.
Crunta’s eyes widened. “No…how could he…” He shook his head. “This only makes your crimes more terrible. Surrender or die.”
Hope nodded. “If that is your choice.” She had obeyed her teacher and sought not to confront this brother. But now he was preventing her from fulfilling the second part of her oath. So he must be removed.
She pulled the Song of Sorrows from its sheath, and the blade sang as it moved through the air. Crunta lifted his own sword to parry, but not quickly enough. It was a short song, and by the time it ended, it was his guts that lay strewn on the flagstones.
Hope stood for a moment, sword extended past her body as she watched Crunta drop heavily to his knees and try to stuff his intestines back into his body for a moment before finally toppling over. Her blade gleamed red in the moonlight. This was the first blood she had ever spilled. She had expected to feel something. Satisfaction. Regret. But all she felt was the same old darkness. Except now it did not frighten her. It strengthened her.
* * *
Grandteacher Hurlo had taught Bleak Hope many things. Unfortunately, long-distance sea navigation had mostly been theoretical training, with very little practical application. She had never sailed more than a few miles from Galemoor. She had studied maps, of course. She knew the general layout of the surrounding islands, and theoretically, she knew the course she would need to keep in order to reach the closest port before the supplies on her little boat ran out. But after two days at sea with no land in sight and less than a day’s rations remaining, she had to admit that she was lost.
She scanned the empty horizon, sunlight sparkling so hard on the surface of the water that she had to squint. A cold wind whipped through her long blond hair, giving some relief from the heat that was turning her pale skin into an angry red.
She should be less than a half day from port, but the whole world seemed empty—of land, of humanity, of anything. The only indication of life was an odd cluster of bubbles that rose to the surface now and then.
She opened the bag that contained the remaining food and water. The grandteacher had not packed a map. That might have helped. Or perhaps not. The sunlight beat down hard directly above, and she couldn’t even be certain she was traveling in the right direction. A compass would have been helpful, she decided. But he hadn’t packed one of those either.
What the grandteacher had packed was a suit of the black leather armor worn by Vinchen warriors. The boots, leggings, and jacket were thick enough to slow down an arrow or bullet but not so heavy that they impeded movement. They had straps with buckles evenly spaced up the arms and legs, which could be used to hold additional weapons or
Crunta stood before her, his sword raised, blocking her way to the gate. No doubt he had lagged behind the others, suspecting the grandteacher’s loyalty to Hope went deep enough that he would help her escape. Of all the brothers, he had been one of the most cruel. Because she was a girl? Because she was a servant? It didn’t really matter.
But she had sworn to Grandteacher Hurlo that she would not confront her brothers.
“Let me pass, Crunta.”
“Do not think because you have been playing at battle in the midnight hours with a foolish old man that you are a match for me. Throw down your toy sword and return to the temple for judgment, or I will leave your pretty guts strewn across the flagstones.”
“Toy sword?” Hope slowly straightened from her crouch. “I know it is dark and the moonlight is faint, but do you truly not recognize this blade?” She held it out horizontally, one hand on the sheath, one on the handle.
Crunta’s eyes widened. “No…how could he…” He shook his head. “This only makes your crimes more terrible. Surrender or die.”
Hope nodded. “If that is your choice.” She had obeyed her teacher and sought not to confront this brother. But now he was preventing her from fulfilling the second part of her oath. So he must be removed.
She pulled the Song of Sorrows from its sheath, and the blade sang as it moved through the air. Crunta lifted his own sword to parry, but not quickly enough. It was a short song, and by the time it ended, it was his guts that lay strewn on the flagstones.
Hope stood for a moment, sword extended past her body as she watched Crunta drop heavily to his knees and try to stuff his intestines back into his body for a moment before finally toppling over. Her blade gleamed red in the moonlight. This was the first blood she had ever spilled. She had expected to feel something. Satisfaction. Regret. But all she felt was the same old darkness. Except now it did not frighten her. It strengthened her.
* * *
Grandteacher Hurlo had taught Bleak Hope many things. Unfortunately, long-distance sea navigation had mostly been theoretical training, with very little practical application. She had never sailed more than a few miles from Galemoor. She had studied maps, of course. She knew the general layout of the surrounding islands, and theoretically, she knew the course she would need to keep in order to reach the closest port before the supplies on her little boat ran out. But after two days at sea with no land in sight and less than a day’s rations remaining, she had to admit that she was lost.
She scanned the empty horizon, sunlight sparkling so hard on the surface of the water that she had to squint. A cold wind whipped through her long blond hair, giving some relief from the heat that was turning her pale skin into an angry red.
She should be less than a half day from port, but the whole world seemed empty—of land, of humanity, of anything. The only indication of life was an odd cluster of bubbles that rose to the surface now and then.
She opened the bag that contained the remaining food and water. The grandteacher had not packed a map. That might have helped. Or perhaps not. The sunlight beat down hard directly above, and she couldn’t even be certain she was traveling in the right direction. A compass would have been helpful, she decided. But he hadn’t packed one of those either.
What the grandteacher had packed was a suit of the black leather armor worn by Vinchen warriors. The boots, leggings, and jacket were thick enough to slow down an arrow or bullet but not so heavy that they impeded movement. They had straps with buckles evenly spaced up the arms and legs, which could be used to hold additional weapons or
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