Weapon of Flesh Read Online Free

killing than he knew names to describe them.  Yet every day, for one hour after sunset, he lay on the Master’s table in the needle room and the ink vanished into his skin.  The magic was part of him now; it would never fade, would never diminish.  He was one with it.  He could not always feel the power within him, but power there was, he knew, for he saw in the eyes of his trainers their astonishment at the feats he could accomplish.
    But today was different.
    Yesterday, his last trainer had departed, so today he was expecting a new one.  He was not particularly surprised when he entered the courtyard of the keep to find a stout, two-wheeled cart attached to a pair of sturdy horses.  What puzzled him was that the servants were putting baggage into the cart, not taking it out.  Bedrolls, food and equipment were being piled in carefully and lashed down.  He had never been in the stables, so he did not know that this cart belonged to the Master.
    He stilled his curiosity as he’d been taught and entered the keep, prepared for anything, or so he thought.
    “There you are!”  The Master snatched him aside as soon as he entered the great hall, now in much disarray with scurrying servants.  “Here,” he snapped, handing the boy an armful of soft clothing.  “Clean yourself, then put these on.  Return as quickly as you are able.  Go.”
    “Yes Master,” he said, scurrying off to the baths, unsure of the command, yet forced to comply by the magic that coursed through his veins.  He placed the strange cloth on a chair in the bathing room and quickly stripped out of his loincloth.  Soap and water was applied judiciously, though he was again unsure why he would need to bathe after only a ten-mile run in the rain.  But bathe he did, and thoroughly; he could not disobey.
    The real dilemma was the Master’s order to put on the clothing he’d been given.  He’d seen others wearing such things, and these were not any different than what the servants wore, but he’d never worn pants or a tunic, and he’d never watched anyone dress.  It took him a while.  He put the pants on back-to-front once and struggled briefly with the tunic, unsure of the lacings, which he eventually decided to leave hanging loose.  The cloth belt he wrapped double around his waist and cinched tightly in a knot he knew would not slip.  The last he did as he sprinted back to the great hall, which was now slightly less chaotic, thought still strange.
    Every servant he had ever seen in the keep stood in a straight row, all facing the hall’s entrance, and all fidgeting nervously.  Something was definitely amiss!
    The boy stilled his mind and took his place, exactly where the Master bade him return to, for he could do naught else.  He stood and waited, enduring the itching clothing, calming his hammering heart and stilling his tumultuous thoughts.
    “Good!”  The Master’s bellow echoed through the hall, surprising everyone except the boy.  Now the Master approached him and his face changed.  It stretched into a smile, something the boy had never seen.  His eyes raked the boy from toe to brow, and his staff rapped the floor smartly.  “Very good!  We are ready to leave.”
    “Leave, Master?”  The boy did not understand; leaving was something other people did.  The trainers, the people who brought food and other things, they left.  How could the Master leave?  How could he leave?  He had been here in the keep, on the plateau, his entire life.  Where else was there?  His agile mind briefly flashed with memories of lights in the distant forest.  Maybe they would go there.
    “Yes, boy, it is time to leave.  Your training is complete, as are the spells I have woven into your flesh.  It is time to fulfill your destiny.”
    “Destiny?  My destiny, Master?”
    “Yes.  Now, go stand by the cart and wait for me.”
    “Yes, Master.”  The boy sprinted out of the great hall and stood by the sturdy two-wheeled cart,