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Witch Ender
5 Therin

5 Therin

As Therin stormed out, discarding the one thing he had ever truly wanted, he let the numb anger course through him for a few steps, giving him courage.

If I am numb, I won’t hesitate.

If I am numb, I won’t be frightened.

He let the words start to form a chant inside him, hardening into an affirmation of his choice. If he was numb, he couldn’t feel regret. If he was numb he couldn’t feel the terror of what he had just done. If he was numb, he didn’t have to process the decision he had made without thought. If he was numb…

As he marched down the hall, he passed several shirtless brothers still slick with sweat from training. The Light inside him responded to their Light, shimmering brightly as he passed them. The buoying effect waned the numbness, the tension falling from his shoulders in a gentle, soothing whisper. He closed his eyes as he approached the empty courtyard, breathing slowly to let the last of the numbing anger ebb. His Light brightened and he opened his eyes, frowning.

The courtyard was not empty.

Standing in the corner, his back straight, his body still, was a young monk. His dark hair was still wet from sweat and as heard Therin approach, he spun, his glaive at the ready.

The young monk’s feral Light ran down the weapon and sparked. Therin blinked at him and froze. The deadly sizzling that came from the other man was ominous, leaving the air smelling like ozone and something sharp. Therin took in the scene: the glaive, the lithe young man and the electric Light arcing. His eyes widened and he took a step backward, his muscled body tensing beneath his chain mail.

Blademaster.

The ranking of these dedicated monks was a little muddy to Therin. He knew that technically his recently-abandoned rank of Captain outranked them, that they would be his men if assigned to him. On duty, they answered to him. Their master was, on record, Therin’s inferior. But he was also other and mysterious. He and his followers were monks, yes, but they were not taught the brutal physical combat of a heavily armoured knight.

These monks were highly specialised, well-trained, select. It was an honor to be chosen to join their ranks, one that Therin had only seen happen once. The majority of the monks that joined the Blademasters were brought in from other locations. Therin didn’t even know how many of them were in the monastery or what all their names were. Only Devan and this one Blademaster knew that information.

They trained in small groups with the lean leader, a quiet, serious man who never made friends and never spoke to anyone outside of the training he led. He also took no title above Blademaster, sharing the rank with the monks that he trained. Therin always assumed there was some informal title or honorific that he must have but he had never heard the Blademasters call him anything but his name.

They were not awarded with maces nor spurs nor tabards, either. They were given the unique looking bladed staves shipped specially from the West when their leader reported to Devan that they had passed his rigorous training and conditioning standards and then they were dispatched to spread their knowledge. Therin had heard that they were given a trial carried out by their leader in secret but he had never asked one of the Blademasters if it was true.

In fact, he had not had many interactions with the small group of monks as they had requested a separate dormitory in the monastery altogether. They ate with the monks destined to become paladins, studied with them in the Basilica, had sentry duty and chores. But their otherwise secretive lifestyle was never discussed. To ask had always seemed taboo to Therin.

“Blademaster Roshan,” Therin said, nodding once.

“Captain Therin,” the slim young man said back, his dark eyes sparkling. They darted to his shoulder. “Congratulations.”

The broad man blinked and stared at him some more, feeling stupid.

“Your mace,” the monk said, repressing a smile. He nodded to the heavy weapon slung over the taller man’s shoulder.

“Oh,” he said, looking abashed. “It’s not–well…thank you.” He finally settled on a reply and smiled awkwardly. A movement behind the smaller man caught his attention. Roshan spun and aimed his glaive’s blade at a robed figure behind him and Light danced down the blade.

“That’s so unnecessary and completely overdone,” said a familiar voice from the floor.

“Hrulinar?” Therin said and the small monk spun back, his dark eyebrows up, his eyes wide. Therin brushed aside Roshan and knelt.

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“I thought I said to wait in the kitchen?” He asked quietly between clenched teeth. “What are you doing?” The spirit had changed into a monk’s habit, prayer beads at his waist, hood up. He looked pale, though, his green eyes hazy and dim in the gloom.

“I went for a walk,” the spirit said petulantly and glanced over Therin’s shoulder. “Your Blademaster seems to have taken some issue with me witnessing his drills and has assaulted me.”

Roshan kept his quiet, merely eyeing the pair. His intelligent gaze flicked between the flame-haired spirit on the floor and the lightly armoured, mace wielding monk kneeling beside him. He seemed to make some kind of decision and he relaxed, standing at ease with his glaive planted into the stone floor.

“You know this…man?” He asked finally. His voice was soft and he wasted no words.

Therin heard his implication and clenched his jaw, glaring at Hrulinar. He shook his head slowly at the spirit, letting his annoyance show as he stood, raising to his full height over the younger man.

“I think this might be a matter better left to me to handle, Blademaster.”

Roshan merely stared back at him, blinking slowly, his face a mask.

“I will take over from here, Brother,” Therin added, nodding his thanks. “You’re dismissed.”

The Blademaster did not move. He merely stared up at the taller man. Therin could smell his sweat and the sharp smell of the wild form of Light that the man used. The smell was a warning, that this monk knew things that Therin did not, that he was deadly, dangerous, unpredictable. Therin’s Light grew in response, bolstering him with its heat.

“How do you know the Divine tongue?” Roshan asked, finally breaking the charged silence between them. He waited patiently for Therin to answer, his dark eyes never leaving Therin’s bright blue.

“You’re dismissed, Blademaster,” Therin said quietly. “I’ll handle this from here.”

“It’s a gift from very powerful spirits.” Roshan said and his eyes lazily drifted to Hrulinar as he stood behind Therin. “The Morinn use the Divine tongue to communicate with them. And bind them.” He blinked slowly and let his eyes drift back to Therin.

“I think you should leave,” Therin said darkly. “This isn’t your concern.”

Roshan didn’t move. Therin dropped Galvyn’s mace’s head into his free hand, letting the movement make a statement. The Blademaster merely lifted his brows slightly and cocked his head a little.

“Therin,” Hrulinar said quietly, putting a hand on the monk’s shoulder. “Let’s just go.”

“Does the High Lord know that there’s a spirit masquerading as one of his Brothers here in the monastery, Captain?” Roshan asked bluntly. He had them pinned into the corner. To leave, they’d have to get past him.

Therin pursed his lips and tensed his shoulders. He flared his Light, letting it bleed down his arms into the mace. His skin rippled as he felt the response in Roshan, the wild lightning chasing around the Blademaster’s skin in sparks and flickers.

The tension between them broke suddenly. Therin raised his mace and gathered his willful Light to strike. In a second, the Blademaster had danced back a step, his weapon at the ready. Therin gave the weapon a half-hearted swing, feeling how it felt in his Light-infused hands.

Roshan raised his glaive and spun it, letting the Light in the bladed head cast sparks across the dim corner. He ducked Therin’s next swing and made to strike the bigger man with the butt of his weapon but Therin had anticipated this and cut his swing short, bringing it down instead of following through. The Blademaster had not expected the impact and had not infused the long stave with enough Light. With a grunt, Therin smashed the haft of the glaive, taking the Blademaster by surprise and breaking it in the middle.

Quickly, acting on the shock that the younger man was still reeling from, Therin raised the weapon again and brought it down on the Blademaster.

But Hrulinar threw himself between the two men, his arms wide, his back to Roshan. A green glow enveloped him and the Light infused mace struck the barrier with an impact that the three of them felt more than heard.

“No! Stop!” He commanded, his voice a harsh bark, thick with power. It coursed through Therin like a crack of lightning, a cool twin to the sharp Light that the Blademaster wielded. He was stuck in place, the command in the Divine tongue warring with his Light. His mace went dark. Therin watched Roshan also freeze, his own weapon losing its electric Light. His eyes were wide.

Hrulinar, having spent something of himself that he could ill-afford, seemed to shrink, his entire self lessening yet becoming more real. His body shimmered, solidifying even more. Behind him, Roshan dropped to one knee, his head bowed, his glaive clenched in his hands.

“Alira, forgive me,” whispered the Prince of Beasts, his green light fading. He dropped to his knees and Therin rushed forward, the panic on his face making him look like the confused boy once again.

“Mother take me, put that Light out.” Hrulinar clenched his head and curled into himself. “It hurts.”

Instantly, Therin extinguished the Light, letting the power dissipate. He watched Roshan also drop his gathered will, his eyes widened in alarm and reverence.

“The Prince of Beasts?” Whispered the Blademaster, his voice barely audible.

“Yes,” grunted the spirit as he writhed.

“First of Aethra?” Roshan asked.

“The one and only,” he replied, his breathing less strained.

“Son of Nature?”

Hrulinar’s head snapped up, his pain and discomfort forgotten.

“What did you say?” He demanded. Roshan was shaking now, his tanned face pale, his lips chalky as he stared at the spirit.

“Hrulinar?” Roshan asked, pronouncing the name with ease, though his voice trembled.

Both the spirit and the monk stared at him, their own eyes widened.

“I have been looking for you, Prince Hrulinar.”