Windlegends Saga - The Windhealer Part 31

"These are the men of the Wind Force, Conar." He looked about the room, recognizing most of them. Grice and Chand Wynth; Rylan and Paegan and Xander Hesar; Brelan and Jah-Ma-el; Coron and Dyllon McGregor; Shalu Taborn; Roget du Mer; Thom Loure, Sentian Heil, Storm Jale, and Ward Summerall; Tyne Brell; Chase Montyne. Conar grinned when he saw Belvoir.

The burly old warrior grimaced. "Here I thought my instructor days were over!"

There were several Conar didn't know, a few he remembered from the Labyrinth, one in particular, and it was to this man his eyes strayed and lingered.

"Come," Occultus commanded and the man walked over to them. "Conar, this is Misha. He is from the Outer Kingdom."

The man didn't hold out his hand; neither did Conar. They looked at one another, evaluating, a.s.sessing. Conar knew they had once met outside that h.e.l.l hole, he just couldn't remember where and when. "I don't recall hearing your name before."

"His name was never spoken because they didn't know it." Occultus folded his arms over his chest. "He arrived at the colony along with Grice, Tyne, and the others. He never told them his name, either. They didn't need to know."

"But I knew yours," the man said and thrust out his hand to Conar.

Gripping Misha's flesh was like gripping iron. The wrist was inflexible, strong, granite-like and the fingers that closed around Conar's wrist were like the springs in a steel trap. "I am honored, Highness," Misha, letting go of Conar's wrist. He dipped two fingers to his brow, then turned to join the others standing near a large round table.

Conar looked at Occultus. "I've never known anyone from the Outer Kingdoms."

"Nor are you likely to meet many. They keep to themselves in that barren ice land."

"How did he come to be sent to the Labyrinth?"

Occultus' thin smile was knowing. "He put himself at the docks the day before Sentian and the rest were brought there. He hit a guard and wound up with the others being transported to Tyber's Isle."

"Not very smart."

"It was, if Tyber's Isle was your destination."

"Why would he-"

"To be where you were."

"How did he know?" There was genuine confusion on Conar's lean face.

"We sent him there."

The blue eyes widened. "You knew I was there?"

"From the moment your s.h.i.+p set sail from Boreas Harbor, I knew your destination."

He could only stare at the tall man. Things were coming together in his mind and he knew Occultus realized it. The smile on the thin face with its high, aristocratic cheekbones was teasing.

"You will learn, my friend, that I do not tell all I know."

Conar shook his head in exasperation. "It would have saved a lot of grief for my brothers and son."

"Not when there was nothing they could do to help you. Only Brelan could do that, as it was pre-destined." He clapped his hands, gaining the men's attention. "Be seated, gentlemen! We have much to discuss." Sitting beside Occultus, with Shalu on his other side, Conar listened to what had been planned for him and grew worried. If he managed to accomplish even half of what Occultus intended, he'd be a formidable opponent, indeed. * * * Conar turned a baleful expression to Grice Wynth. He sat down heavily on the floor of the palace guard's training room, sweat pouring from him. The stinging salt of his sweat seeped into his eyes. He ran the back of his arm over his forehead. His head ached and his muscles felt as though they were being pulled apart. Grice had been having him lift progressively heavier weights since six that morning. It was now four in the afternoon. "As I said, you thought you were in pretty good shape." Grice leaned back in his chair and stretched out his long legs. "Now, you know better."

"I know only that, at this rate, I'll have a hernia before the day is out." He ran his hands over his face. "I lifted enough rocks at the Labyrinth to last me, thank you."

Grice grinned. "But that wasn't professional weight training."

"Weight training?" Conar scoffed. "You've got nothing on the Tribunal's inquisitors!"

"Do you give the others this much trouble, or just me?" Grice inquired, lifting a black brow.

"He gives us all trouble," Rylan sniffed as he limped into the room. His foot, injured so long ago in the waters of the Labyrinth, was bothering him. A sure sign that rain was lurking.

"Even Shalu?" Grice asked.

"Well, not every one of us, I suppose." Rylan chuckled. "He fears that one. I know I do!"

"Do you, little brother?" Grice had taken to calling Conar the pet name both Brelan and Jah-Ma-El used. He could see the pleasure it gave his companion. "I may be stupid, but I'm not crazy, Wynth. I dread Tuesdays. The training isn't all that difficult, but his tongue can whittle a man down to size in seconds. The least little thing I do wrong..." He ran his finger across his throat.

"Better you than us," Rylan agreed.

Occultus had set up a schedule of training for Conar with men who were experts in their field. He was allowing Conar six months of vigorous training before the next convocation occurred. It would be then that the men would report on Conar's progress before the entire nucleus of the Wind Force. There were eleven who were coaching him on the weekdays, and the weekends were split with three men on Sat.u.r.day and three on Sunday. He wasn't given a day he could call his own.

As Conar rested, he listened to s.n.a.t.c.hes of conversation between Rylan and Grice. They were discussing him as though he wasn't there. He tuned out the words. It was bad enough to hear their words from the days' training in his sleep at night-what little sleep he got, for either Se Huan or Brelan were forever nudging him awake-but the sleeplessness was starting to take its toll. Mornings found him bleary-eyed and exhausted, impatient with criticisms, petulant when admonished, downright abusive when told to do extra to make up for his failings. As if the daily regimen of physical and mental nagging wasn't enough, he had to hear them in his sleep and when he rested!

Shalu: "That is a spear, you little son-of-a-b.i.t.c.h, not a piece of paper! You do nottoss it away, youaim it andthrow it!"

Paegan: "If you hit the water like that again, you'll break your fool neck! Tuck you head under your arms! Extend!

Extend, dammit!"

Roget: "That's not strategy! That's stupidity. What the h.e.l.l makes you think such a ploy would work? You'd think your great-aunt Petunia had taught you how to reason!"

Storm: "Use your knees. You can control a horse better with your body than with your hands. Let him know who's in charge. Who taught you how to ride? Sadie MacCorkingdale?"

Chase: "No, no, no!Aimabove your d.a.m.ned target, notat it! The arrow will naturally fall with gravity. I wish I knew who'd taught you how to string a bow!"

Tyne: "Who the h.e.l.l taught you how to wield a sword? Your mother?"

Misha: "Who taught you how to run? Your grandmother? A four-year-old could beat you in a foot race! You need to develop rhythm. Your stride is wrong."

Rylan: "Who the h.e.l.l taught you how to throw? Your wet-nurse? Throw that boomerang like that again and it'll take your f.u.c.king head off!"

Thom: "Animals are not trusting by nature. You have to earn their loyalty. Rush up on a beast like that again and you may not live long enough to remember what you did wrong! Who taught you to saddle a horse, anyway?"

Even the words from Occultus were often sharp and scathing when he misp.r.o.nounced an invocation or forgot the words. But Jah-Ma-El's hard remarks were the worst. Conar had had no idea how intelligent and nimble minded his brother was.

Or how wise.

"You must learn to see yourself as an empty vessel, Conar. Devoid of substance, drained of knowledge but ready to be filled. Embrace the teachings as though you were a man dying of thirst. Drink it in. Savor the feeling as it slides down your parched throat, for just as water will replenish life, so will correct knowledge save your life and the lives of those dependent upon you."

Brelan joined the three men in the guardroom. He glanced at Conar sitting on the stone floor and raised a brow. "Is this howyou train him, Wynth? He doesn't get mollycoddling from me."

With a tired sigh, Conar came to his feet. "Is it time already?"

"I'll meet you in the boxing ring. Do ten laps around the gym before I get there."

Conar opened his mouth to protest, but seeing the others looking at him, he snapped his mouth shut, vividly remembering the last time he had played hooky.

He'd been tired of it all and had gone for a swim. He knew no one would follow, not where he was going, so he stripped and plunged into the waters of the large outside pool where training had been held. He had looked up to see Roget standing on the wooden walkway surrounding the pool. Du Mer was glaring at him.

"Get out!"

Conar grinned and dove neatly into the deeper section. He came up, his arms neatly cleaving the waters.

"I told you to get the h.e.l.l out of there!"

He winked. "Come get me!"

If it had been just an ordinary summer's day, Roget would have accommodated him and Conar knew it. If it had even been a cool spring day or late autumn day, Roget wouldn't have hesitated diving in and dragging his a.s.s back to the water's edge. But considering that it was in the mid-twenties, with snow falling in large clumps, the water was frigid and mist-shrouded. As he cut expertly through its lapping waves, Conar felt himself fairly safe from du Mer's anger.

And it was anger.

Roget was standing on the platform, wrapped in a thick woolen cape, s.h.i.+vering, his eyes hot, his body cold and his voice trembling with the blast of arctic air blowing over him.

"If you d...don't get your b...b.u.t.t out of there," Roget chattered, "you'll b...be the sorriest b.a.s.t.a.r.d this s...side of the Alps!"

Roget spied a rock. He had all but decided that if Conar didn't get out of the water, he was going to take that rock and whack him with it!

"You wouldn't dare!"

"The h.e.l.l I wouldn't!" Roget shouted, amazed Conar had known what he was thinking.

Conar chuckled, dove under the water where his shoulders wouldn't be the pale purple they had become with his swim in the merciless chill. He surfaced after a long underwater period and treaded water, looking about him for Roget. He grinned.

Du Mer was gone.

"No b.a.l.l.s," Conar chided to the absent man. "Blue b.a.l.l.s!"

He cleft the water again, swam for a good three minutes under the water, surfaced and heard a sound that chilled him where the water hadn't.

"Having fun?"

Conar murmured a heart-felt, "Oh, s.h.i.+t!" He turned to face the voice, then pushed at the water, putting as much distance between him and the three men staring at him across the wafting fog.

A finger crooked his way.

Conar shook his head. "Go away. I'll get out in a minute."

The finger crooked again.

He shook his head. "I don't trust you."

Rylan Hesar looked to his little brother. "He doesn't trust us, Paegan."

Of all the men Roget could have gone after, he picked the two who had been sp.a.w.ned in the wild, frigid waters of Virago. The only men who were not adverse to diving into the water.

Later, coughing, spitting out water, and groaning, he lay gasping on the snow-covered walkway where the two had dragged him after a brief scuffle. They'd captured him and held him underwater until he thought he'd drown, and that's when Conar vowed he wouldn't play hooky again.

And that he wouldn't argue either.

He'd found out it wouldn't do him any good. Especially not when there were others to take sides against him. Besides, Conar was convinced the men were latent s.a.d.i.s.ts! Now, with a snarl of pique, he headed for the gym, his ears burning from the mocking laughter following him.

"Conar McGregor, this is Pearl."

Occultus indicated the man standing in the center of the wrestling mat. He c.o.c.ked one brow at the look on Conar's face, then folded his hands into the sleeves of his deep green robe.

"He will be your instructor in the art of body wrestling." A slight smile touched the thin lips as the wordbody sank into Conar's feverishly working brain. His grin widened as Conar snapped his head around.

"I'm not training with this...this..." He turned to glare at the new man. "Person!"

"You will," Occultus said in a reasonable voice.

"I won't!"

Conar started to leave, but Occultus nodded at Pearl, who moved with lightning speed.

He took hold of Conar's arm, placed his hip against Conar's and levered him over his shoulder and to the floor. Conar landed hard on his rump.

He sat there, mouth open, eyes devoid of the s.h.i.+ning hate of a moment before, too astonished by the stranger's actions to have actual thought. As the reality of what happened struck him, his mouth snapped shut into a thin line.

"Son-of-a-b.i.t.c.h!" he ground out between tightly clenched teeth. He came off the floor, lowered his head and plowed into the stranger's gut. Pearl staggered back at the momentum of the all-out attack, but he held his ground.

Circling Conar's midsection with his arms, Pearl jerked him of the floor, fell backward to the mat and tossed Conar over his head where the young Prince landed flat on his back.

Glaring at the ceiling, his lips pressed tightly together, Conar was barely aware of the man standing over him, his hand extended in help. With a snarling rage, he sat up quickly, snaked out a lightning fast hand and clasped the stranger's ankle, dragging the foot out from under him. He grinned maliciously as Pearl collapsed with a surprised grunt.

Satisfied that he had redeemed himself, Conar got to his knees and was pus.h.i.+ng himself up when he was tackled, the stranger's body p.r.o.ne across his back. Before he could react, his left wrist was caught in a steel-like grip and pressed firmly to the floor. A hard arm snaked under his right armpit and Pearl's right hand locked across the back of his neck. Conar's left shoulder dipped to the mat and stayed there. Despite bucking and twisting to get free, all he managed to do was increase the hold Pearl had on his upper body. The rock-hard body wouldn't budge. Conar's grunts and snorts and snarls of rage only seemed to amuse him.

"Do you give?" A pleasant, gravelly voice, somewhat effeminate in its smoky quality, asked near his ear.

"Go to h.e.l.l!"Conar hissed, groaning as the pressure increased on his arm. His fingers went numb.

"All it takes is one shoulder pinned to the mat to win a compet.i.tion. You were no challenge."

Suddenly the pressure was gone. Conar twisted around, sitting up as he rubbed his left shoulder. He glared at the stranger with loathing.

"Pearl is a champion, Conar. He has yet to lose a match. If you want to be good at what you attempt, you must learn from the best. If mediocrity is your goal, any teacher will do; any man can be average. It takes a special man to be a champion."

"There'snothing that...man...can teach me that I want to know!" Conar came to his feet.