Chapter 2

  Bad Blood

  "Grey! Grey, where are you?" The ringing voice of a young girl echoed through the shade of towering pine trees.

  "Grey! Answer me immediately, you naughty little boy!"

  But once again, there was silence in response to her angry shout.

  "Grey, Uncle Wolet will hear about this!"

  Now, THIS was getting serious. Uncle Wolet had forbidden him from running far away from the other children, let alone hiding from them. Although he would probably manage to avoid any serious punishment for such mischief (Wolet and Gur believed that the boy should learn from life itself and therefore rarely punished him severely), but Wolet might not let him strike the heated metal piece with the big hammer after lunch today. And Grey didn't want to miss out on that under any circumstances.

  So, the dense bushes, overgrown at the foot of a small mound with a centuries-old pine tree at its summit, rustled, and after a moment, a tousled child's head emerged. It belonged to a strong boy who, judging by the situation and the mischievous expression on his face, was quite the prankster. Quickly spinning around in different directions, his head tilted forward, pulling out from the thicket rather broad shoulders, torso, and thighs for his age. Last to appear were his scratched bare feet! Glancing around cautiously, the mischievous boy conjured up something strange in front of him. It seemed like a floating sheet of glass, ethereal and detached from the world. He reached out to touch it with his finger. As he did, the screen shimmered, It read (though the symbols were visible only to the boy himself):

  After taking a quick look at the ethereal screen the boy quickly turned (the screen disappeared with a flick of his hand), climbed up the steep crumbling slope, darted off somewhere.

  "Alright, Grey, that's enough! I'm leaving now!" This time, the girl's voice sounded even angrier.

  "Why are you shouting like that, Senna? You'll summon the Shadows if you continue screaming like that. I was gathering mushrooms. Look, I've filled up this basket."

  The girl turned around in surprise. Grey stood right behind her, and at his feet was a birch bark basket with its lid flipped open, filled with sturdy mushrooms with moist, shiny caps. For a few moments, the girl begrudgingly examined the full basket, then stomped her foot.

  "Again!"

  "Again what?" Grey put on an innocent face.

  "I've told you so many times: don't sneak up on me."

  Grey snorted.

  "So what, should I shout and break all the bushes on purpose like you do?"

  "No, just walk normally. Like everyone else."

  "I walk normally, it's all of you who rush through the woods like it's a bear's wedding," grumbled the boy, but immediately smiled in a conciliatory manner. "Oh, never mind... I see you've hardly gathered anything. Do you want to take my basket instead?"

  The girl pressed her lips together in frustration, but the temptation was strong. After hesitating for a moment, she asked with a hint of friendliness in her voice:

  "And what about you?"

  "Oh..." Grey casually waved his hand. "By the time we reach the village, I'll gather another basket. Just don't complain to uncle Wolet."

  The girl lifted her head haughtily, but the mushrooms filling Grey's basket were so good: fresh, meaty, and completely unspoiled, that she tossed her braided hair in the air and grumbled:

  "Fine, but this better be the last time."

  "Yeah," nodded the young boy, but both of them understood perfectly well that it was just an empty promise.

  Grey felt too comfortable in the forest to gather mushrooms along with the group. Also, she knew that he would actually be able to gather another full basket of mushrooms on the way back to the village, even though they would be returning along the same path that a group of twenty children had already walked, with varying degrees of success in filling their own baskets. Grey was renowned as the village's finest mushroom picker. It was almost as if the mushrooms appeared magically in his basket out of thin air.

  Just before reaching the village, Grey and Senna caught up with the other children. Stamar, the elder's son (and Senna's brother), a sturdy boy of eleven, glanced at his sister and fixed a stern gaze on Grey.

  "He was running by himself again, hasn't he?"

  "No," Senna protested, "he was gathering mushrooms. Look, he's got a full basket."

  At that moment, an annoying, shrill voice came from the group of children.

  "Oh, we know how he gathers mushrooms. He must be casting spells like his witch mother. The mushrooms just jump into his basket."

  "What did you say?!" Grey turned sharply towards the speaker.

  "Yeah, that's right!" Andin, the eldest son of Marko, casually stepped forward from the group of children.

  Being almost twelve and towering over Grey by nearly two heads, he felt a sense of superiority. His father had been seriously ill and bedridden for the past three years, and everyone knew that his young mother often visited the forge and Wolet the blacksmith, and sometimes stayed there much longer than necessary. The village gossips also whispered that the younger Marko's kid was a spitting image of the blacksmith Wolet. Perhaps due to these rumors or other reasons, Andin had grown noticeably gloomier over the past year, his face wearing a habitual, slightly malicious expression. Seizing every opportunity, he got used to insulting, teasing, or ridiculing others, as if anticipating the same treatment from them.

  "My father told me. Your mother was a witch, a real witch. It's common knowledge. And she cursed your goat."

  "You son of a..."

  Before anyone could react, Grey lunged at Andin, delivering a solid punch to his nose. Momentarily stunned, Andin let out a roar and retaliated, lunging at Grey...

  ***

  When the boys were separated, both bore the marks of a fierce fight. Grey had a split lip, a torn shirt, and a rapidly swelling bruise under his eye, while Andin held his bleeding nose and occasionally spat blood, which was now quite easy for him since he had a noticeable gap in his upper jaw. Moreover, Andin's left ear was noticeably increasing in size.

  "Alright, that's enough," Stamar, the eldest and biggest of the group, said sternly. "My father always says that people should stick together, and there's already enough evil in the world without adding more by fighting among ourselves. Understood?"

  Grey, with a glance that could turn to ashes, looked at Andin with hatred and spat on the ground. Andin himself was no longer as enthusiastic about fighting with Grey. He had assumed that the young blacksmith's apprentice would be afraid to stand up against an older and bigger opponent, allowing him to taunt and tease the orphan to his heart's content. But unexpectedly, Grey possessed a solid pair of fists and seemed impervious to pain. Andin had delivered a solid blow to Grey's eye, a strike that would have easily knocked down his younger brother, who often endured similar treatment (albeit secretly from their mother). However, Grey merely snorted and retaliated with a punch to Andin's mouth, dislodging one of his teeth.

  "I'll ask you one more time, no more fights, is that understood?" Stamar reiterated.

  "Tell him to shut his filthy mouth," Grey muttered. Andin scowled in annoyance, while Stamar glanced at Grey, then at Andin, and furrowed his brow.

  "Alright, let's go back to the village. We've had enough adventures for one day."

  Half an hour later, Grey arrived at the forge. Wolet was busy inside, the rhythmic sounds of the hammer striking metal and the comforting warmth emanating from the forge filled the air. Just outside the entrance, leaning against the wall, was uncle Gur. Spotting Grey's battered face, he pursed his lips mockingly and shook his head.

  "Who did that to you?"

  "Andin!" the boy waved dismissively. "He should have minded his own business."

  Gur chuckled.

  "So that's how it is... he should've minded his own business, and then you wouldn't have ended up with a bruised face?"

  "But I..." The boy choked on his anger. "But I knocked out his tooth, and his ear now matches the color of a plum, and there's a stream of blood flowing from his nose."

  Gur nodded understandingly.

  "Well, it seems like you held your ground against your opponent, but let's just say it's a somewhat dubious victory. What was it all about, anyway?"

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  Grey recounted the story. Gur sat for a while, pondering and chewing on a straw, then spoke thoughtfully.

  "You know, he might have a point."

  "What do you mean?" Grey was taken aback. Gur smirked.

  "It's time to tell you how you came into this world..."

  ***

  When Gur finished his story, Grey sat silently for a while, deeply contemplating what he had heard. Then he quietly asked:

  "Who are the Nobles?"

  Gur shrugged.

  "To me, they're just ordinary people. Sure, they can do some magic, they usually have more wealth than others, and... an abundance of arrogance. But that's about it." He waved his hand dismissively.

  "And if I'm from Noble blood, does that mean I should... know this magic too?"

  "Well, maybe you do," Gur chuckled. "There's one catch, though. To possess magic, you need two things: natural talent and a good education. If you lack either one, the other is useless. So you might have the talent, but as for the education... there's no one here to teach you."

  "And where can someone who can teach me?"

  "Ah, don't even try," Gur waved his hand.

  "Why not?"

  "Because only those of Noble blood are allowed to enter that education," he said, smiling mockingly.

  "But I am..." Grey started.

  "And how do you prove that? Do you have an ancestral castle, an influential father, a noble mother, a genealogical record that traces fifteen generations of your ancestors, perhaps?"

  Grey's expression turned somber.

  "Is all of this really necessary?"

  "Absolutely! Otherwise, any commoner with magical abilities might come along and pass themselves off as noble. It is believed that such abilities are a privilege of pure blood. But where can you find pure blood these days? Perhaps in the times of the Ancestors... Legends say they were infused with the spark of magic by the Gods themselves. But now, even a village healer can know and do more than some Nobleman."

  "And where do healers learn all this?"

  "Well, healing magic isn't very complicated. It is believed to be accessible even to commoners. There are a couple of schools at the temples... but they won't teach you much there. Just basic things like stopping bleeding, soothing a toothache, and some minor skills. And if you don't have any abilities, then there's nothing to do. There are also the Idshi, but they only teach their own..."

  "Who are these Idshi, though?"

  Gur frowned.

  "They're a greedy bunch. They'll do anything for money! They don't like being peasants and prefer tailoring and shoemaking. They mostly work as traders and moneylenders, accumulating a lot of wealth. It's even said that emperors and kings borrowed from them. They settle in big cities, in their own neighborhood, and outsiders have limited access. So..." Gur shrugged.

  The boy remained silent for a while, then sadly whispered to himself, "So, I'll never learn any of that..."

  Gur looked at him attentively.

  "Why do you need to? Do you think magic is all about the wondrous tales the old folks share on winter nights? No, my boy, that's all in the past. The truth is, humans aren't naturally inclined towards magic. Maybe in ancient times, when the Ancestors roamed the earth, there were mighty magicians among them. But now..." Gur waved his hand dismissively.

  "In our squad, we'd turn to the village herb woman for our ailments, not a mage."

  He paused for a moment, lost in thought, then turned to Grey and carefully examined a bruise on his face.

  "But you do need to learn, that's true. It's time to start teaching you."

  "Blacksmithing?" Grey exclaimed with joy. "That's incredible!" Becoming a skilled blacksmith was his ultimate dream. What more could a boy living near a forge hope for?

  "Yes, blacksmithing too," Gur smiled.

  The next day, Gur woke Grey up before dawn.

  As the boy emerged from beneath a pile of old rags that served as his makeshift mattress, sheet, blanket, and pillow all at once, he noticed Gur dressed in unfamiliar attire. It was made of a completely unknown fabric, different from what people in the village wore. Rubbing his eyes, Grey exclaimed in awe:

  "Wow, Uncle Gur, what are those trousers and shirt you're wearing?"

  Gur burst into laughter.

  "Well, you said it, boy - trousers... shirt... if only Sabbah could hear you!"

  "Who's Sabbah?" Grey asked, confused.

  "Never mind," Gur waved his hand, still chuckling. "Just know that this attire is called hirhakh. It's made from the hide of a Sand Iblis, and only the warriors blessed by the grace of battle, known as al-kharai, are allowed to wear it. Understand?"

  Grey nodded thoughtfully, scratched his ear, and asked:

  "And who is this sandeeblis?"

  "Not 'sandeeblis', but 'Sand Iblis'," Gur corrected him. "It's a powerful Shadow creature of the Desert. Its strength rivals that of a hundred of the mightiest warriors, and its ferocity surpasses that of a white tiger, known as the terror of the sands. The Iblis's claws can tear apart even the largest sorgal into tiny pieces in the blink of an eye, despite the sorgal's thick skin that can withstand torch burns without feeling a thing."

  Grey scratched his ear again and asked:

  "But how do they kill it then?"

  Gur furrowed his brows with a serious expression:

  "Ah, that's a great feat, achievable only by true al-kharai..." Then he couldn't hold back and burst into laughter: "Ah, well, I don't know. I've never seen a live Iblis. Anyway, get up, lazy brat, it's time for our lesson."

  Grey quickly jumped up and, running to the door, stuck his nose outside:

  "But, uncle Gur, uncle Wolet hasn't even fired up the furnace yet!"

  "True," Gur nodded. "But today we won't start with forging. So, wash your face and let's go."

  The sunrise found them in a meadow not far from the pine tree where Grey had spent such a wonderful time yesterday while the other children were crawling through the forest, searching for mushrooms. Gur looked around and nodded with satisfaction:

  "Excellent spot. We'll start here..."

  ***

  With the arrival of the first snow, Grey's wrists grew stronger and stopped aching as much. He effortlessly performed twenty squats on each leg, managed ten push-ups with his right arm, and six with his left (although it was challenging). He could also hold a stick in his outstretched left hand from dawn until "the sun touched the top of that pine tree," hang upside down from a branch for half an hour, and much more. His fingers were constantly twirling a pair of oak balls carved by Wolet, which he squeezed and rolled diligently. He wore a heavy bracelet woven from iron rods, wrapped in leather to prevent chafing, on his ankles and wrists.

  Initially, the village men approved of Gur's teachings to Grey. They hoped that Grey, known for his mischief, would have less time for trouble after Gur's lessons. However, as time passed, they started to frown and disapprove of Gur. They felt he was being too strict with the boy.

  Two days before the winter solstice celebration, the elder called Gur over and invited him to sit at the table. The elder cleared his throat slightly and began the conversation:

  "I have been thinking... You're teaching the boy things that may not be necessary. It's not entirely appropriate. I mean, learning to swing a sword or handle a bow, that's one thing, especially considering the troubled times we live in. Remember the winter before last when we had to fix the palisade? But that's beside the point..."

  Here, the elder lost his train of thought and fell silent.

  Gur listened attentively to the village elder, then calmly reached for a mug of refreshment, took a sip of the potent homemade ale, savored the taste, and placed it back on the table.

  "So, you believe it's unnecessary?" Gur responded.

  "Well," the elder nodded with relief, "those are all your mercenary skills, but I don't think we need any of that here. Our village is peaceful, and our only fight is against the Shadows. Tricks and climbing trees won't make a difference against them. They only fear iron and silver."

  "Erwo, let me explain," Gur began thoughtfully, "if the boy were to spend his whole life in this village, then you'd be right. But I have a feeling that he has a different destiny..."

  The elder frowned: "Please, don't give the other boys any ideas. They already watch you and Grey with envy."

  Gur smiled reassuringly.

  "Don't worry, I have no intention of leaving the village, and I won't encourage the boys to follow that path either. Besides, Erwo, have you ever wondered why I never spoke about my mercenary past all these years? You don't think I have nothing to share, do you?"

  The elder's frown deepened.

  "Well..."

  "It's because in stories, adventures and wars always sound more enticing than they actually are. However, I do have plenty of stories to tell. Perhaps you've heard of the mercenary squad that captured the Ascension Bridge during the Crimson Campaign and held it for nearly three days? I was part of that squad. And the Great Hunt for the Shadow Count Ilmer? I participated in that too. The boys would listen to me with wide eyes, and for a while, I would be the coolest guy in the village." Gur's gaze drifted off dreamily, but then he abruptly refocused on the elder. "But it wouldn't take long before some of them would leave the village, seeking adventures and glory in the wider world. And in a matter of days, we would find their mutilated bodies near the Lonely Mountain or the Twilight Haunt... That's why I remain silent."

  The elder nodded in understanding.

  "Well, as I was saying..."

  "Some," Gur interjected, "Some can be spared from that fate, while others cannot. It's their DESTINY. And it seems to me that Grey, not too soon though, has a different destiny awaiting him. Our role is to better prepare him for what he will encounter beyond the outskirts of this village. So forgive me, Erwo, but let's make a decision: I'll continue to keep silent, and you won't interfere with me teaching Grey..."

  ***

  By spring, Grey had made impressive physical progress. He could already do ten pull-ups on a branch and perform twenty one-arm push-ups. However, Gur seemed dissatisfied with Grey's achievements.

  "You're growing too quickly. I'm afraid you won't become a true al-harai," Gur remarked.

  Confused and offended, Grey asked, "Why is that?" But Gur simply shook his head in silence, withholding an explanation.

  After a few weeks, Gur decided to excuse himself from the village and took Grey and Wolet along to the distant swamps. There, they discovered huts made of earth where men and older children resided from the beginning of the harvest until the day of Glayn when undead and Shadow creatures fully awakened. Along with their supplies, Wolet brought a roughly made sword of raw iron, while Grey had brought a forged heavy axe that he himself had forged under Wolet's silent guidance. Nonetheless, it was Gur who initiated this venture. Casting another critical glance at Grey, he sighed heavily and spoke thoughtfully:

  "Well, teaching you the ways of the eastern warriors would be a waste of time, as you will never master them."

  Offended once again, Grey questioned, "Why is that?"

  Gur explained, "You're already too big. As you continue to grow, you'll become like a massive wild boar. However, the techniques of eastern warriors rely not only on strength but also on speed. With the muscle mass you'll acquire, achieving the necessary speed will be difficult." Gur offered a reassuring smile. "But don't take offense. Let's say Wolet will never master the techniques of eastern warriors either. However, if I had to choose someone to stand back-to-back with against a horde of Shadows, I would choose Wolet without hesitation. You should witness how he wields a two-handed sword..." Gur's voice trailed off.

  Curious, Grey cautiously asked, "So, what about me?"

  "Well," Gur looked him over, "It's better for you not to get too carried away with weapons that require speed and precision. But strength is your thing. So, come on... You wanted to learn blacksmithing, now you can forge yourself a training two-handed sword and a two-handed axe."

  "Wow!" Grey exclaimed with enthusiasm and immediately rushed to the forge, shouting, "Uncle Wolet, uncle Wolet, I'm going to forge a real sword! A genuine one!"

  For almost a month and a half, they remained in the swamps. Grey trained extensively with two-handed weapons under Wolet's guidance, while Gur continued to challenge him in the other disciplines he had practiced before. Additionally, he drove stakes into the bottom of the swamp and deliberately selected the most crooked and knotty sticks, then made Grey run across them, as if he were a squirrel. Despite his efforts, Grey struggled with this skill and only managed to complete Gur's challenging course with five falls into the stinky and muddy swamp goo.

  During the evenings, Gur and Wolet engaged in sparring matches, using only their fists. Village life had made them somewhat rusty, and Gur recognized how much he had let himself go. Wolet, too, was initially a bit clumsy. However, the work of a blacksmith strains the muscle groups necessary for fighting, so he just needed to readjust his balance and recall certain techniques. Gur, however, had to exert himself more to regain his previous form.

  They returned to the village during the haymaking season. Although elder Erwo didn't comment on their extended absence, his facial expression clearly conveyed his strong dissatisfaction with the situation.

  By autumn, Gur believed that Grey was ready for light sparring with weapons. However, their first fight ended with a breathless and exhausted Grey looking sadly at his sword lying on the ground. Gur gave him a final swat on the backside with the sword, which left Grey feeling disheartened. Despite Gur constantly praising Grey's talent and strength, Grey nearly burst into tears. In the evening, after Grey had calmed down and stopped sulking, Gur called him over with a smile.

  "Are you still upset?" Gur asked.

  "What's the point of your teachings if I'm still weak and can't do anything?" Grey grumbled angrily.

  "Well, you can do something. But what we've been doing until now was just the groundwork. We needed to strengthen your muscles, improve coordination, and work on your breathing before diving into battle techniques. It was necessary," Gur explained.

  Grey took a moment to reflect on Gur's words and started to feel calmer. He then asked, "Uncle Gur, how long will it take for me to become... With the sword... well, good, like you or uncle Wolet?"

  Gur furrowed his brow. "Oh boy, I should probably teach you rhetoric as well, though I'm not the best teacher in that regard..." He fell into deep thought. Grey waited patiently for Gur to notice him, but when it didn't happen, he tugged at Gur's sleeve to get his attention.

  "Uncle Gur, I asked you something!"

  "What?"

  "Well, how much more do I need to train to become as good as you... or uncle Wolet?"

  Gur turned his gaze to Grey and smiled. He tousled the young boy's curly head and calmly replied:

  "Your whole life."