When I stepped outside, I noticed that all the initiates had ceased the climb and were now waiting on the plateau. Kegohr and Vesma went ahead, and I hung back a little from Rutmonlir, hoping I could ask him to skip tomorrow’s training session. I doubted he would give me time off due to ‘emotional trauma’ after being attacked by a fellow initiate, but I was sure I could think of some appropriate justification.
“I really hope you do beat the ever-living shit out of Hamon,” he said as we descended the mountain path.
“I’ll do my best,” I said with a smile.
“Should have him kicked out of the guild, along with the rest of the Wysaro Clan.”
“Why don’t you?”
“It would never stick. The Wysaro hold too much power in the region. Xilarion would be all for it, but the people would protest. Jiven Wysaro has the entire region wrapped around his finger. They think him a savior. They know nothing of the truth, or of how a guild and clan should co-exist.”
“I don’t mind him staying,” I said truthfully. “I much prefer keeping him around.”
“Do you now?” Rutmonlir smiled. “You’re starting to grow on me, lad.”
“Ha, you should probably get that looked at.”
He frowned at me and then burst into laughter. We continued marching down the path as I wracked my brain for a reason why I needed to skip tomorrow’s class. Except all I could think about was Hamon. Even though he wanted me dead, he was an important part of my path to become the Immortal Swordslinger. I knew that every time I saw him, I would desire to grow stronger. He would be the living embodiment of my quest to become the greatest Augmentor.
I almost stopped walking when I realized how my goals had completely changed in just a few, short months. I no longer even wanted to return home. This was my home now. I wanted to know more about why Tolin believed I would become an immortal. Was he just a crazy old man, or did he truly believe I could become one?
“You’ll need to get stronger,” Rutmonlir said.
“Sorry?” I asked as I wondered if he also had the ability to read minds.
“To beat Hamon. If I’d let him fight you in the shrine, he would have turned you to ashes.”
“I’ll get stronger,” I promised. “I just need a little time off from the lessons and training.”
Rutmonlir stopped walking and tilted his head at me. “Time off?”
I nodded. “To do some training of my own.”
Chapter Twelve
I returned to the guild house dining hall where lunch was being served. The meal turned out to be a soup containing soy beans, noodles, slivers of beef, and slices of vegetable. The food was inexpensive, loaded with inexpensive but nutritious ingredients, and seasoned with special herbs that helped with developing Augmentation channels. It wasn’t always fancy, but the portions were generous, and I always left refueled, particularly after a morning of fasting and exercise.
Vesma, Kegohr, and I sat on cushions around low tables, the clatter of chopsticks and spoons against wooden bowls the only noise for a good five minutes. Then, as the initiates started to regain their energy, conversation slowly emerged.
My two companions had joined me at meal times every day since we first met. I got the feeling it was Kegohr who had decided they should adopt me as a friend. For reasons I didn’t entirely understand, he had barged his way into my life with all the grace and subtlety of a bumper car. If Vesma had ever objected, it didn’t show. She treated me with the same cynical stare she showed everyone, regardless of whether she liked them or loathed them.
“Archery this afternoon,” she said. “And principles of mindfulness.”
Kegohr groaned. “Can’t we talk about something other than lessons?”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know.” He turned to me. “What do people talk about where you come from?”
“Mostly sports,” I said. “Or television shows.”
“What’s that?” Kegohr asked.
I paused for a moment and tried to work out how best to explain.
“You know theater?”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah!” Kegohr beamed in delight. “There’s this touring company that brings shadow shows round the towns, right? They do this whole thing about an ancient swordslinger who fights a giant and a dragon, and when the shapes show against the lantern light, it looks just like a real dragon. Totally brilliant.”
“So, you’ve seen a real dragon?” I asked as thoughts of Nydarth entered my mind.
“No, no, no,” Kegohr said. “But if I saw one, I bet they’d look just like that.”
Vesma snorted.
“You don’t know!” Kegohr waved his spoon at her.
“Neither do you,” she replied. “That’s my point.”
“All right. You want to hear more about Effin’s tilivision, or do you just want to complain?”
“I want to talk Augmenting.” She set her spoon down and steepled her hands over her bowl. “I want to improve Flame Shield.”
“Always, always talking lessons.” Kegohr rolled his eyes, but then leaned forward to better hear her. “Go on, then; what have you got?”
I wasn’t surprised. Conversations about how to Augment had become a regular part of our routine, one that I found incredibly valuable. My friends had grown up in a world of Augmenters and Vigor, had spent years preparing to get to the guild. Their experiences and attitudes, which were very different from each other, showed me new ways of approaching my power. Considering what they talked about had helped me to grow stronger.
Kegohr’s approach was an instinctual one. To him, the power was something that constantly raged inside and that he struggled to keep under control. When he Augmented, it was a careful venting of part of that power, something he did by instinct as much as by calculation. Like me, he had to work to forge pathways within himself, and when he talked about those forgings he talked about what felt good, what let the Vigor flow.
Vesma was far
