Read Online The Sunset Warrior - 01 by Eric Van Lustbader - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Eric Van Lustbader
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puzzlement, all flickered across his face. ‘But how? I was not sure myself what I was doing.’
Ronin smiled. ‘Yet it was quite apparent to me that you were extremely upset, and not by any of the things you were saying.’
Colour crept into his face again. ‘I am in your debt.’ He was silent for a moment, staring into the depths of his wine. He had not touched it, and now he picked up the goblet and sipped at it. It meant more to him than taking a drink.
‘I will tell you something,’ he said slowly, ‘although it is very difficult for me. I have envied you for a long time, wanting to be a Bladesman and not—not having the chance.’ He laughed nervously. ‘I suppose I am too small in any event.’ He brought the goblet to his lips again, a swift convulsive movement, as if activity were a necessity now. ‘I yearn to know how we came to be as a people—and what took place before us. They were a great people, centuries ago, and they built many Machines—huge and awesome.’ He put the wine down, gripped himself at the elbows as if he were cold. ‘That is all beyond us now. We have lost everything. But I have reached a—I have read all that remains, that meagre pile of knowledge.’
His voice lowered. ‘They do not know it, but I have partially deciphered the glyphs of the very ancient writing that comes from the time when all people were surface-dwellers. But it is not nearly enough, just odd fragments—it is nothing, really. I have been able to read just enough to know what an unforgivable thing they did.’
He broke off and wrung his hands. He had not yet said what he had come to say. ‘So I thought after all I have chosen to be something that is worthless. Oh, I have grown used to the taunts—I had work to keep me busy. But now I have read everything, so they tell me.’
He took out the dagger, watched light play along its stubby blade. ‘So some time ago I went to Combat practice’—he lifted his head, half afraid that Ronin would laugh—‘just like that. The Students joked about it at first and made fun of me, and finally, when I kept coming, wanted to throw me out. But in the end the Instructor came over and gave me this and a short sword and said that since I was trying so hard at least I should have some weapons. And now I work with the Novices, but’—his head sunk again—‘I know I will never be a Blades man.’
‘There are other things to be,’ said Ronin.
‘Nirren says nothing is as important.’
‘Nirren enjoys teasing you, but you must not believe everything he says.’
‘He is a Chondrin and he does not see!’ G’fand blurted suddenly.
‘See what?’
‘That we are dying! You cannot see it? You heard Tomand. He does not know the workings of the Machines, no Neer does. Yet the Great Machines are all that keep us alive. The Instructor talks to us of Traditions, the Code of Combat. But what good are Traditions if the air fails or the food goes or no more water comes to us?’
He stood abruptly. ‘I cannot stand it! I do not want to remain here. There is nothing for me, nothing for anyone. And soon—soon the banner of Tradition shall wave over our rotting bones!’
They went to Sehna together and that seemed to settle everything. There was an awkward moment until Tomand stood and said, ‘You are forgiven, this is Sehna after all.’ Nirren looked at them and smiled to himself, and K’reen squeezed G’fand’s hand.
There was much laughter and spirited talk amongst the group, but a lot of it had a hard brittle edge; the topics of conversation were of little consequence. And as the courses came and went and the wine flagon was emptied and refilled, they were gripped by a kind of desperation that caused their laughter to ring louder, as if noise and tumult would keep them safe from their inner thoughts.
Ronin understood this early on, and, while he ate and drank and laughed with the rest because any other course would have been suspect, this knowledge only
Ronin smiled. ‘Yet it was quite apparent to me that you were extremely upset, and not by any of the things you were saying.’
Colour crept into his face again. ‘I am in your debt.’ He was silent for a moment, staring into the depths of his wine. He had not touched it, and now he picked up the goblet and sipped at it. It meant more to him than taking a drink.
‘I will tell you something,’ he said slowly, ‘although it is very difficult for me. I have envied you for a long time, wanting to be a Bladesman and not—not having the chance.’ He laughed nervously. ‘I suppose I am too small in any event.’ He brought the goblet to his lips again, a swift convulsive movement, as if activity were a necessity now. ‘I yearn to know how we came to be as a people—and what took place before us. They were a great people, centuries ago, and they built many Machines—huge and awesome.’ He put the wine down, gripped himself at the elbows as if he were cold. ‘That is all beyond us now. We have lost everything. But I have reached a—I have read all that remains, that meagre pile of knowledge.’
His voice lowered. ‘They do not know it, but I have partially deciphered the glyphs of the very ancient writing that comes from the time when all people were surface-dwellers. But it is not nearly enough, just odd fragments—it is nothing, really. I have been able to read just enough to know what an unforgivable thing they did.’
He broke off and wrung his hands. He had not yet said what he had come to say. ‘So I thought after all I have chosen to be something that is worthless. Oh, I have grown used to the taunts—I had work to keep me busy. But now I have read everything, so they tell me.’
He took out the dagger, watched light play along its stubby blade. ‘So some time ago I went to Combat practice’—he lifted his head, half afraid that Ronin would laugh—‘just like that. The Students joked about it at first and made fun of me, and finally, when I kept coming, wanted to throw me out. But in the end the Instructor came over and gave me this and a short sword and said that since I was trying so hard at least I should have some weapons. And now I work with the Novices, but’—his head sunk again—‘I know I will never be a Blades man.’
‘There are other things to be,’ said Ronin.
‘Nirren says nothing is as important.’
‘Nirren enjoys teasing you, but you must not believe everything he says.’
‘He is a Chondrin and he does not see!’ G’fand blurted suddenly.
‘See what?’
‘That we are dying! You cannot see it? You heard Tomand. He does not know the workings of the Machines, no Neer does. Yet the Great Machines are all that keep us alive. The Instructor talks to us of Traditions, the Code of Combat. But what good are Traditions if the air fails or the food goes or no more water comes to us?’
He stood abruptly. ‘I cannot stand it! I do not want to remain here. There is nothing for me, nothing for anyone. And soon—soon the banner of Tradition shall wave over our rotting bones!’
They went to Sehna together and that seemed to settle everything. There was an awkward moment until Tomand stood and said, ‘You are forgiven, this is Sehna after all.’ Nirren looked at them and smiled to himself, and K’reen squeezed G’fand’s hand.
There was much laughter and spirited talk amongst the group, but a lot of it had a hard brittle edge; the topics of conversation were of little consequence. And as the courses came and went and the wine flagon was emptied and refilled, they were gripped by a kind of desperation that caused their laughter to ring louder, as if noise and tumult would keep them safe from their inner thoughts.
Ronin understood this early on, and, while he ate and drank and laughed with the rest because any other course would have been suspect, this knowledge only
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