Maybe Rezkin was supposed to work for the king, and the king had found out that the strikers were traitors. Perhaps it was only the small faction at the fortress that was composed of traitors. But why had the masters killed each other? And, why would the traitors help to train their own killer if they had known he was supposed to work for the king?

Rezkin shook his head to clear his thoughts. He was getting ahead of himself. He did not even know for sure that the strikers actually worked for the king. It had only been an impression of military bearing on his part, and truth be told, he was not really familiar with any other style of bearing. He had learned how to discern much about a person by his or her appearance and behavior, but he had not had much opportunity to put those skills to use since he had grown up isolated from the outworld.

Chapter 3

Rezkin decided to follow the road to Justain rather than continue along the river. The road, pitted and overgrown, was not far from the river as it was, and he thought it was unlikely Farson would make the mistake of leaving an obvious trail if he did abandon his boat. It took four long days in the saddle to reach the city. Rezkin was surprised how worn he felt considering he had done little but ride the entire way. His saddle soreness was already dissipating, but his body wanted more action. Rezkin had never gone so many days without endless hours of training. Whenever he would stop, at night, midday, and just before dawn, he would work his muscles and go through various weapon forms. Still, it did not feel like it had been enough.

Justain was supposed to be a large city, strategically located both on the River Straei and the East-West Trade Route that stretched from the western coast all the way to the Kingdom of Channería in the East. Merchants flocked to the city to sell their wares, and all kinds of unusual items could be found. At least, that is what the masters had told him. Rezkin, of course, had never been to a city, so the vision in his mind was based completely on paintings, the diagrams he had seen when learning the Siege Skill, and the descriptions of items, dress, and customs learned from his instructors. Absolutely nothing he had learned could have prepared him for the sight before him.

Standing upon the slight hill just north of the city, Rezkin could finally behold the might of human ingenuity. Perdony was a speck of dust compared to this fantastical monolith. On the rise in the center was what once was an old fort that dated from the days of the Conquering. The fort had been modified and built upon until it resembled what his masters had called a grand estate.