From Darkness Won - Jill Williamson [155]
Cole shook the hair out of his eyes. “Sure seems a lot, Your Highness. But I’ll try.”
Achan folded his arms. “I’m most concerned at present with your learning to use a sword, at least to some degree.”
Cole’s eyes popped wide. “You think I’m strong enough?”
“Of course, lad! Fine spirit like yours. And practice will make you stronger.”
Sir Gavin and Sir Caleb entered the tent. Achan had barely begun with Cole, but Sir Gavin came to Achan’s tent these days only when he had important news.
“Manu, would you take Cole to Captain Demry and see that he is given a sword and shield?” Achan asked. “Come back when you’ve got it, Cole, and we’ll continue.”
Manu bowed and held the drape aside. Cole jumped up and scurried out of the tent. Cortland followed.
Then Cole poked his head back past the drape on the door. “Thank you, Your Highness. I’ll be back later.”
Achan smiled. “You are welcome, Cole.”
Cole vanished.
Sir Gavin chuckled. “He’s an eager one to learn.”
“More eager to flee your presence, I’d guess,” Achan said. “You’re always frightening the children, Sir Gavin.”
“It’s the eyes, no doubt,” Sir Gavin said, groaning as he fell into the chair Cole had abandoned. “Though I’m sure you’re not eager to discuss my attractiveness or lack thereof.” Sir Gavin pulled out the chair beside his with a glance at Sir Caleb and a nod of his head. Sir Caleb sat as well.
“I’ve spoken with Sir Eagan and Sir Jax,” Sir Gavin said. “They’re together. Currently traveling south through Darkness with Sir Rigil and Bran and a few others they’ve gathered along the way. They’re headed for Noiz now. Since they’re all on foot, it’ll take them some time to reach Armonguard.”
“All are well?”
“Aye, all are well.”
It pleased Achan to know this. For these were all good men, and he did not want to lose any of them, though he would have liked to have fought beside them in whatever battles were coming.
Achan’s mornings continued to run with a consistent ceremony. Once Matthias was satisfied with a tale of one of Achan’s scars, the boy would go fetch them breakfast. Achan wondered what would happen if he ever ran out of new scars to talk about. For better or worse, though, that was not likely to happen for a long time yet.
Then Achan would dress himself in whatever clothing Matthias had laid out, an arrangement Achan liked better than having a child dress him. Matthias would return with breakfast. And, at some time while Achan was eating, Toros Ianjo would come with spiritual counsel.
Today was no different. Toros entered Achan’s tent just as he finished off his bread.
“Good day, Your Highness. I trust you slept well?”
“I did. Knowing my friends are alive and well gives me great comfort.”
“Ah, well. Comfort comes easiest when our soul is content. Alas, our soul is rarely content for long.” Toros pulled out the chair across from Achan and sat down.
“Why is that?” Achan asked. “Why does nothing in Er’Rets bring complete satisfaction?”
“Perhaps it is a gift from Arman.”
Achan met Toros’s gaze, drawn in by the dark brown depths of the priest’s eyes. “What do you mean? Why would that be a gift?”
The warrior-priest swept his hand around in the air. “Would you really want this broken, hurtful land to be the fulfillment of your every wish? Doesn’t it please you to know that something far superior awaits you?”
“Shamayim?”
“You will never want for anything once you are in Arman’s presence.”
Achan chuckled. “That’s the truth. When Arman speaks, I barely remember my name. Though he no longer speaks to me as much as he once did. Why do you suppose that is?”
“Do you speak to him?”
“Well, yes. To pray.”
“For what?”
Achan paused while Matthias took his trencher away. “You want to know my prayers?”
Toros urged Achan with a nod.
“Very well. I pray for help. For the war. For guidance.” For Sparrow to remember him, and to love him. To be safe.
“You pray for you.” Toros cocked his head. “Arman does long to hear your prayers, but He also deserves your praise and worship. Your allegiance.”
“I know. Why is it so difficult to remember