Master Jaiardun was a tall man at a few inches over six feet. Now, his shoulders slightly stooped with age, but he was no less imposing. His hair, once dark, had thinned so that he was completely bald on top, and grey and silver strands hung long from the sides past his shoulders. He wore the same brown short robe with grey tunic and pants that Rezkin donned every day. Today, Master Jaiardun wore a sword at his hip.

Both masters were considered masters of the blade, but Jaiardun rarely carried one. In fact, several of the strikers were swordmasters. All of the strikers were required to be masters of at least one Skill, and several were masters of two or three. Strikers Farson and Adona were each masters of five Skills, which was the most of any of the strikers. Still, none of them were masters of all of the Skills like Rezkin.

Rezkin had been told to come to the courtyard fully armed. It was an unusual request. Of course, Rezkin always had weapons secreted about his person unless he was told otherwise, but he was expected to know how to make anything a weapon, even mundane objects such as a comb or drying cloth. For years he had been trained in the knowledge that he was the true weapon, and he could forgo any other accouterments, needing only his own body and mind to prevail.

Rezkin bowed slightly. “What would you have me do, Master?”

Master Jaiardun held his gaze and said, “You will kill the strikers.”

There were several gasps and shouts as the strikers leapt back. Steel sang as they drew their swords. The hairs on Rezkin’s neck pricked, and he spun to the side just as a dagger shot through the air where he had been standing. The quake of battle energy abruptly surged through him. He had to get to a more advantageous location. The masters had set him up in the worst position possible when they surrounded him with opponents. He had no idea why he was supposed to kill the strikers, and it did not matter. The masters had said it was so, and he must obey. It was a moot point, though, since now that the strikers knew his objective, they would do everything in their power to prevent him from accomplishing it. The strikers were now trying to kill him.