Ezril began using his Sunders with his brothers the days that followed, the wooden sword becoming a thing of the past. They swung, parried, and thrusted. Their Sunders proving more efficient than the wood in their training. Father Talod would often remind them of how the accidental chopping off of an arm was not going to help any of them.

“A one-armed man is useful to the seminary,” Talod told them. “But the seminary would rather have its priests complete.”

While Darvi gained fame for his way with the sword, Ezril gained fame for something more active and less discreet: his way with the bow. To the anger of Takan, Ezril proved himself capable of soaring even higher than his mates with it. There had once been a point when everyone had thought he had reached his peak in the use of the boy. Ezril had thought so, too.

His return from the Elken forest proved them wrong.

Ezril displaced every target assigned to him, be it stationary, aerial or in transit. He hit every mark with relative ease and a simple display of his mastery of the art. He added a touch of flair only when Priestess Ellenel wasn’t watching to draw the occasional awes of his mates. Whenever Ellenel caught him, he was punished. Though Ezril often caught a hint of a smile on her face as he served his punishment for such offenses.

“The Monsignor has informed me that I should let the lot of you taste the outside air on the morrow,” Talod informed them on the eve of Nuratiff. “I would remind you all that this is not a chance for you to begin your body count. But, if you must, you have my permission. The boys and girls will want a taste of you because you are a mystery to them… to that I say, do not be stupid.”

That night saw them in cheerful banter concerning their outing. Olbi, seeming to know the city nearby most, gave directions and instructions as he had done on their first day out. Their first outing had been uneventful, spent mostly getting to know the city. They learned that the roofs of the houses didn’t stand too high off the ground in the parts of Ardin where the seminary was situated, and found with little disappointment that the tall buildings lay in the heart of the city where the King resided.

“I reckon a drop from there shouldn’t kill you, brother,” Takan had joked to Salem once as they stared at one of the roofs of the simple houses. “We should see how fast you can get there.”

Maybe we’ll get to actually enjoy ourselves this time, Ezril thought as he laid eyes open in the dark room.

Darvi turned in his bed. The action drew Ezril’s attention. It seemed Darvi was restless and Ezril couldn’t blame him for it. The outing had him feeling restless, too. He caught himself wondering how well Salem was going to be. The brother seemed to have gotten over the loss of Divine, but Ezril feared he might prove better at disguising his emotions amongst all of them.

………………………………

“I’m going to get me a nice new blade,” Raylin announced at breakfast while they ate.

“What do you need one for?” Unkuti asked him. “The seminary has better ones.”

“Yes, but not fancy ones.”

Ezril understood the allure of beauty when it came to weapons; the pattern on his bow showed the truth of that. Unlike his mates, he was the only one of them permitted to carry more than a throwing knife and his Sunders around the seminary. He had been informed that the exception to carry a bow was optional, but he could see the compulsion in Ellenel’s eyes when Talod gave him the news.

So Ezril always walked with his Sunders strapped diagonally, crossing over each other, across his back, hilts visible over both shoulders, and throwing knives in his grey cloak. When they had been new in the seminary they were allowed to carry wooden swords, and only when they were to be used for training. Ezril remembered how they’d always looked at the older children with their Sunders in anticipation.

Now each of them carried theirs, worn in whichever fashion best suited them. As for Ezril, his wooden bow was always strapped to his back.

The first few days felt special as they walked around with their Sunders, but it soon grew old. Now, all they felt was a sense of maturity. Ezril found he liked it. But carrying his black bow made him feel special despite the time spent. More special than he’d thought it would.

He had experienced the uncomfortable inspecting eyes of all the children, especially the older ones during the first days. Rumors had already begun spreading about him being the First Bow of his group. But it, too, had grown old. Now it was a normal occurrence to hear of it. Despite the fame, Ezril understood the necessity of carrying his bow at all time.

“Keep your bow with you always,” Felvan had lectured him once. “Have it until the touch of it becomes a phantom to your fingers. Then have it some more.”

Ezril was determined to make that a reality.

“I hear there’s a festival today,” Salem said casually, returning Ezril to the present.

Takan nodded. “I heard it too. Dumb noble finally got himself a son and reckons he can run the city shitless with a party.”

“Which means today is going to be fun,” Darvi noted.

Ezril smiled. “More pockets to pick.”

“More girls to meet.” Takan looked smug.

“And more active thugs,” Olbi added, his face downcast, finalizing all the optimism.

“I’m…” Takan began with an effort, “sorry about last time.”

Ezril always found it entertaining whenever the proud boy forced himself to apologize.

“Well run faster this time,” he joked. Although, he didn’t mind finding himself running from grown thugs like they had done in their last outing.

“So who’s this noble?” Darvi asked after a while.

“Erm… not sure,” Salem replied uneasily, drawing a smile from Ezril.

Not being one for questions, Darvi usually just acted and gave instructions whenever it was needed. Most time he was mildly ignored. However, ever since his trip to the Elken forest, Ezril had discovered that in his absence they had all developed an obedience to the brother. He now looked and acted more like the leader the Monsignor seemed to have intended him to be.

Rising from his seat Darvi passed out his instructions quickly. “Meet at the south gate in thirty minutes,” he told them, then turned away.

They nodded in acquiescence as they left the table, concluding their breakfast.

After retrieving his stash containing a number of coins he had stolen on their last outing, Ezril made his way to the stables. He visited as often as he could but not as frequently as he used to.

“So,” Njord began as he brushed one of the horses gently. “How does it feel to be First Bow?”

Ezril caressed his bow absently. The black coloring of The wooden bow was mixed with a considerable amount of flakes of Asmidian ore. The flakes served to aid it in withstanding blows from swords. Apparently, it was a trick of crafting he doubted even the seminary was capable of.

“It’s growing on me,” Ezril replied, taking his hand from the bow.

“Yes. Priestess Ellenel was also uncomfortable for a while when she was made First Bow in the convent. It grew on her easily, too.”

Ezril looked at Njord, confused. “You knew Priestess Ellenel when she was in the convent?”

Njord’s age was always a bit difficult to determine. Only his grey hair gave away his grating age, whereas his build and movements only offered the opinion of a seasoned warrior still in the prime of his years, but he had been a priest at the Seminary for a very long time. Suffice to say, he was as old as father Talod. Perhaps as old as the Monsignor.

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“I did,” Njord answered. “I knew our little Ellenel well. But that aside, it would seem you are the only one who has not seen Unkuti’s wolf. Would you like to?”

Ezril had always heard his brothers talk of the wolf and how it would not eat any of the meat they offered it, saying it would only eat what it hunted. Something about how they spoke of it piqued his interest on many occasions. It was as though they were more frightened of it than awed. Deciding it was about time he knew what his brothers knew, Ezril gave his answer.

“Yes.”

The Kennel proved surprisingly larger than the stables and, considering how often he spent his time at the stables, Ezril found himself feeling a sense of shame for having never entered it as he walked in. There were various animals in the kennel: snakes, dogs, wolves and others, but mostly hunting dogs. When he arrived at where Unkuti’s wolf was, he was surprised to find its space considerably larger than all the other animals.

Because it hunts, he surmised. “I understand that it needs to hunt,” he said, “but why all the special treatment for one wolf?”

“At first I thought it was just a stubborn wolf,” Njord said, sounding eager to share his discovery, “but I believe we might have an Atle wolf on our hands, boy. It doesn’t respond kindly to humans, and it was found all on its own with no injuries, which is rare to see amongst wolves. Although,” he mused, “the blizzard could account for that.”

It wasn’t found alone, Ezril thought. It was simply the only one alive.

“So,” Ezril pressed, instead. “I’m sure there’s more.”

“I haven’t seen one before,” Njord continued happily, “but the speed at which it grows is enough evidence for me. It grows faster than the other wolves.”

“If it’s an Atle wolf, and the stories I’ve heard are true, then it might never be useful.”

“Yes,” Njord agreed, unperturbed by the update. “But if I can get it to mate with one of the wolves, then we can have a litter. Just think about it: mixed breeds weaker than Atle wolves but stronger than normal wolves.”

“But those already exist,” Ezril pointed out. “And I’m sure we have them too.”

Ezril was beginning to find the conversation tiring. Apart from the horses and far smaller animals, he never had a liking for animals in general. Even his tolerance for horses was something that had taken him time to learn.

Njord cocked his head to his side in thought.

“Yes, they exist,” he agreed. “But they are too diluted, their heritage drawing too far back. But this would present us with the purest of mixed breeds possible.”

Ezril worried at the huge priest’s excitement at the prospect. There were carcasses packed to one corner of the stone-walled kennel the wolf was in along with a few pieces of meat at the entrance.

“As the children learned of its refusal of offered meat, they made a game of it,” Njord said, noting what held Ezril’s attention. “So they come and drop a piece of meat whenever they have the chance.”

Ezril looked at him. “Isn’t that a waste of meat?”

Njord shrugged. “Not really. I take them out, and give them to the other animals by the end of the day. But there’s no harm in trying.”

Ezril realized he had stayed too long. He rose from his position, said his goodbyes to Njord, and made his way for the exit.

Njord stopped him in his tracks with an outstretched hand that held a bucket of meat. “How about you drop yours before you go.”

As much as he had berated the practice, Ezril saw no harm in engaging it. “Alright.”

He took a piece of meat from the bucket and placed it along with the others. As he drew his arm back from the cage, his eyes met the wolf’s.

Its eyes were blue like other wolves, but somehow they seemed more pronounced than them. They seemed, unmoving, observant. Ezril found himself compelled to the thought of what it would feel like to master such a beast before he left.

………………………………..

The others were already assembled and waiting when Ezril arrived at the south gate. Takan was visibly annoyed by his tardiness. Apart from that, the others didn’t seem too bothered. Their days of the wild had proved a bit tasking after their test of the pathfinder, as Zakarid would walk without making an effort to lead them through it. But it had grown on them, and even Ezril found crossing the mist to be a normal task now.

“So long in the seminary and I still hate them,” Takan said after they left the gate.

The gates were the same on all four sides of the seminary; huge and unfenced with a metal Bear head carved out of it with red eyes.

Olufemi simply watched the eyes in the same awe he always did whenever they passed any of the gates.

As they walked through the mist they spoke of the things they would buy as well as how they intended to enjoy the festival. The first time they had left the seminary unsupervised Ezril had wondered if the mist was the least thick beyond the south gate as compared to the other gates. He was certain of it now. He saw clearer in it than in the others and wondered if it was because it was the part the seminary took when it chose to socialize with the outside world.

It was a relief when they finally stepped out of the mist and into the fresh air of the forest—as fresh as could be considered. They moved through the forest for roughly two miles before making a turn and heading up another mile for the main road.

They’d barely stepped onto the cleared road only to find it was busier than they’d anticipated. Farmers carried their produce to be sold at the festival. Groups of people they could only surmise where there for the fun, not so much unlike them, trampled the dirt roads in their individual glee. It was the largest number of people Ezril had ever seen in one place, and he soon found that he didn’t do so well in crowds.

The crowd often made failed attempts at clearing from their way as Ezril and his brothers walked, shoving and squeezing through whatever spaces they could find. Even armed, the crowd was too large for caution to make people leave their way quickly.

Olbi seemed to have a destination in mind as they moved through the crowd, resisting the flow that threatened to carry them. Ezril wondered why the seminary did nothing to teach them about how best to navigate a crowd.

It wasn’t long before he understood why as they slowly adapted to the movement of the crowd and began making their way through it with relative ease, their movements easing them against the flow so subtly that it had taken Ezril a moment to realize it.

As they moved Ezril was distracted by one of the side entertainments. A man was sliding what proved to be a seventh sword into his mouth from point to hilt as his audience applauded him. Watching him Ezril remembered Tolin’s stories of such people during carnivals.

“Their bodies are not like ours, that’s why they can do such things,” Tolin had told him when he’d asked if it was because the people were Hallowed.

Pulling himself from his distraction, Ezril continued after his brothers. He passed a palm reader on his way. The elderly woman had a customer’s palm in her hand and was saying something about finding the woman of his dreams. It drew a smile from Ezril as he wondered if there was a possible crime in what she was doing. He’d heard stories of Tainted who learned the ability of sight, acclaiming themselves capable of seeing a man’s destiny should they choose to.

According to one of the stories Talod had told them in one of his rare conversational moods, when such a Tainted was leading a group, the group was always harder to defeat.

“When you have a battle on your hand,” he had told them. “You always want the fastest way to kill the commander if he is competent.”

Ezril and his brothers continued on for a while longer before he stopped again at an illusionist who was drawing an apple from thin air. Tolin had explained this to him as well. He claimed that the illusionists were not a manipulation of Vayla’s nin because the illusionists were required to submit their tricks for approval by the necessary authorities of the kingdom before they could display them at such events.

While watching, Ezril felt a tug at his cloak. It was firm and demanding. He turned his head and found only Olufemi beside him. He wondered just how far behind the others he had fallen while sightseeing. Olufemi turned and fell into a run. Without having to be asked, Ezril followed him, moving through the crowd. Before long they caught up with the others.

“Where were you?” Darvi asked Ezril when they arrived.

“I got distracted,” Ezril answered as he followed them, finding himself in front of a bar. Above the building was written ‘Tallwood.’ Apparently it was the name of the bar. It was noisy, and Ezril wondered what exactly was happening inside.

Olbi led them in, pushing the door open gently. As they walked in the noise subsided. A soft silence dawned on those closest to the doors. Ignoring it, Ezril and his brothers made their way to a long table with benches on both sides.

The tables in the bar where stained with alcohols of different kinds. Some tables sported dried blood at some their edges. They were proof that the fights that happened here tended to end in blood. It reminded Ezril of his time with Urden in the tavern outside the city. As they took their seats, he noted the stains of ale on their table. It spoke of poor maintenance in the hygiene department of the bar. He ignored this as he took his seat at one end of the bench.

Unkuti took the space beside him.

“They’ll be with us in a moment,” Olbi said as they sat, but Ezril found himself more interested in observing the customers.

Some watched him and his brothers with wary eyes. Others seemed to look at them as a challenge, men and boys alike.

We might be dealing with men as well Father Talod, Ezril thought.

“…I’m busy right now, sir. I’ll send one of the girls out back for you,” a girl with a tray holding cups of drinks was saying to a man at one of the tables. Her voice was loud enough to convey her discomfort even above the noise of the crowd.

Clearly it was intentional.

“I don’t want no whore, love. I want you,” the man drawled with no evident sign of drunkenness. It was a normal practice in this part of the city for taverns to offer the services of whores even though there were whore houses in different parts of the city. This was knowledge Ezril had gotten from Olbi during their first outing.

“I… am not… for sale,” The girl stumbled through the sentence, struggling to escape the man’s grip around her waist.

She was pretty and not much older than Ezril. The gown she wore was stained with different fluids and her hair worn up in a messy bun. Ezril turned his attention elsewhere, watching the other people who were not yet aware of their presence. Some of the tables had boys and girls involved in carnal acts in their drunkenness. Although, not all of them involved were too drunk to control themselves.

One of the tables was inhabited by a group of people who were not there for the drinks. They were engaged in a game of war. It was a board game where each player anticipated the other’s moves in order to win. Ezril always found it ironic that for a kingdom that hated the Tainted so much one of their most played games amongst the elite had a Tainted as one of its pieces. An important piece, to say the least.

He was distracted, watching the game for a while when Raylin spoke. His words were simple, but there was a mild alarm in his tone with a touch of curiosity.

“Where is Salem?”