The Western Wizard Read Online Free Page B

Northern king to the loophole in his vow. By attacking at night, the Northmen had allowed the Renshai to live their “
days
in peace.”
    Colbey drew a long sword from each hip sheath, watching the familiar glow of starlight on the blades. Even after sixty-five years, the beauty of the sight never dimmed, nor the excitement that thrilled through him at the melody of steel rasping from its sheath. But the joy of other things had disappeared. Thoughts of some of the Renshai’s actions sickened him, especially the ritual mutilations that had led to their exile. Yet there was a beauty and integrity to the Renshai that outsiders rarely understood.They remained loyal to one another to the extreme of cutting down one of their own from behind to prevent his dying of illness or infection, for a coward’s death would doom a warrior to Hel. Their honor forbade them from using anything but their own individual, physical skills in war; therefore, they shunned armor, group strategies, and any weapon that did not require a direct, hand-to-hand technique. Rache had died of King Siderin’s poison. And that, Colbey had found the most distasteful weapon of all.
    Still, despite the many laws that bound the Renshai, they never expected their enemies to follow the same code of ethics.
A man who dies fighting with his principles intact dies in glory. To expect enemies to follow the same code of honor defiles that honor, reducing it to a set of arbitrary rules.
    With that thought, Colbey launched into a
svergelse
, a series of sword maneuvers practiced alone. Though swifter than his heartbeats, the perfect, committed figures came easily, along with a memory that, to his mind, defined the Renshai’s creed. Before Colbey’s birth, the tribe had worshiped the god Odin as their patron. Then, one day, Colbey’s elders swore that Thor’s wife Sif appeared before them, promising that a child born that day would become the most skilled sword master in history. Three babies joined the tribe that day. The first, a boy, barely met the Renshai’s definition of average before his death in a childhood combat. The second, a girl called Kelrhyne, was hardy and robust. Clearly the object of Sif’s promise, she perfected her first sword maneuver before the other two pulled to a stand. She had breezed through the Renshai training as though it was created solely for her. The third child born had been Colbey.
    The swords whirled about Colbey, veering with a speed that kept them invisible. Even the flashes of starlight shifted too quickly to betray their positions. He recalled how, at five years old, he had been told about Sif’s promise. Immediately, he had made a vow. If Kelrhyne was destined by gods to become the most skilled sword master in history, then, by setting his goal to best her, he would become the finest swordsman possible, constrained only by time. Now, remembering, Colbey smiled, spinning into a complicated kata designed forbattling hordes of enemies at once. From that day, he had forsaken everything but his swords. He had spent every moment of every day drilling sword maneuvers until exhaustion battered him into unconsciousness. Over time, his parents discovered that no promise of reward nor threat of punishment could drive Colbey to fulfill the mundane duties of life. He would rather practice than eat, would rather hold his sword than another person, and would rather train than sleep.
    By the time Kelrhyne died in brazen glory, Colbey had become the best. Therein, Colbey knew, lay the fundamental difference between Renshai and other men. For, where others would simply say that Colbey had been Sif’s Chosen One all along, the Renshai still believed Sif had specified Kelrhyne; and they revered the dedication that had allowed Colbey to thwart a god-voiced prophecy.
    Colbey plunged into a wild flurry of strike and parry, both arms arching and driving with equal mastery, his body weaving in a finely coordinated dance. His thoughts jarred back to